


Bound to Please

by Deeranger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Blackmail, Blood As Lube, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bottom Sam, Broken Sam Winchester, Crying Sam Winchester, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Demons, Desperation, Emotional Roller Coaster, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Forced, Forced Orgasm, Guilt, Heartbreaking, Heavy Angst, Helpless Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Major Character Injury, Male Slash, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Happy, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rough Sex, Scared Dean Winchester, Scared Sam Winchester, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Torture, Tortured Dean Winchester, Tortured Sam Winchester, Trauma, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deeranger/pseuds/Deeranger
Summary: The Winchester brothers have in their possession a powerful artifact that is on every bad guy's most-wanted list. It can't be destroyed, so they have to hide it before it falls into the wrong hands. But as the chase begins and they try to outrun every villain in the book, they suddenly find themselves cornered in the middle of nowhere, trapped and at the mercy of a couple of sadistic demons. And suddenly it's not just about the artifact anymore. It's about survival - nothing more and nothing less. But what is a life worth? And what kind of life will it be after this? If only they knew how everything is about to change, the brothers might reconsider their answers to those questions.* This fic comes with a digital NSFW illustration in chapter 2*
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

“Where’s the amulet?”

  
The tone is harsh and flat. Like the demon has already practiced exactly what to say and how about a million times. His face is just as devoid of emotion as his voice, and it leaves Sam with zero doubt in his mind that this scumbag is serious.

  
“I don’t know,” he retorts, trying to flinch away from the hand that reaches out to grab his hair at the back of his neck, pulling his head back with a quick yank.  
  


“Liar,” the demon says, but his voice is surprisingly even. Controlled. Anger has yet to flash across his features, and Sam nervously flicks his gaze to his older brother who is just as helplessly tied to one of the wooden beams of the barn as he is. He is bleeding a little from a split lip, but he is just about as defiant as Sam is feeling – only his big brother is putting words behind it:

  
“Why don’t you just go back to hell and spare us the chit chat?” he spits, eyeing the two demons towering in front of them up and down like they’re nothing but waste of space.

  
“Would make things a whole lot easier. And _far_ more bearable…” he grumbles, tugging at the rough hemp rope digging into his wrists.  
  


“Not feeling talkative, huh?” the demon in front of Dean says, closing his hands into fists with a sickening crackle of tendons and bone. The older Winchester just glares at him, unimpressed, and with his chin tilted slightly upwards in what could easily be interpreted as a direct and very intentional provocation.  
  


“Well… I can’t say that I’m surprised, Dean-o. That’s why I think we’re gonna ask your brother,” the demon says lowly, turning towards his friend a little and giving him a minute nod of his head. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and Dean doesn’t miss it. Neither does Sam. 

  
“Yeah? And what difference d’you think that’ll make?!” Dean snarls, now working a little harder at the ropes tying his wrists together behind the sturdy wooden beam. If only there were some split pieces of wood or maybe a nail that he can pry off and use to work himself free of the rope, that would be great – but right now all he finds is a smooth oak surface that has never seen bad carpentry or just good old-fashioned decay.

  
“Say, Sammy… If you tell us where the amulet is maybe this won’t get ugly,” the other demon says, picking up where his friend left off. There’s a smug kind of smirk on his pale face and Sam knows just what it means. Because it never fails. Demons are sometimes predictable after all, and this definitely means an ace. There’s an ace up their sleeve that he and Dean aren’t counting on, something they’re not giving away. That’s for sure.

  
“I don’t know,” Sam repeats, jaw muscles clenched in both nervousness and defiance. The demon in front of him just tilts his head to the side a little, looking like some sort of curious canine unsure if it wants to attack or wait it out.

  
“Really…?” he says under his breath – and with that, he reaches out his hand, suddenly placing a palm on the young Winchester’s chest. As his bony fingers splay out on the checkered flannel Sam swears that there’s a solid cold transferring directly from the long digits and straight through his clothes, spreading like icy tendrils through the fabric and onto his skin.

  
“Are you sure?” the demon just says, shortly looking over at his friend with a dark gleam now present in his eyes. As if on cue the demon in front of Dean balls his hand into a fist – and before either of the Winchesters can register it, the fist goes flying. 

_  
'SMACK!’_

  
The sound is loud and raw in the barn, almost echoing off the wooden beams and bouncing around in the spacious building. The nauseating sound of a rib cracking as knuckles collide with Dean’s side is equally loud – so is the choked _‘oomph’_ that leaves the older Winchester when the wind is knocked out of him.

  
Instantly Sam tenses, automatically straining against the ropes to aid his brother who has now halfway collapsed onto his knees on the dirty barn floor. But of course, he doesn’t make it far, because the ropes are too tight, his wrists too expertly tied and the beam way too solid.

  
“Don’t!” Sam hisses, glaring at the demon looming above his brother.

  
“I believe my partner asked you a question,” the black-eyed man states, shooting Sam a quick glance as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, seemingly readying himself for another round. Instantly the young Winchester knits his brows together in a mix of anger and nervousness.

  
“Just leave him alone!” he says, glance glued to the scumbag in front of his brother who is now trying to get back up, wheezing and staring daggers at the demon who is still just wearing a way too smug grin.

  
“Nah,” the creature just huffs, and about a millisecond later another fist whistles towards its target, this time hitting Dean square in the jaw. With a pained sound, the older Winchester careens to the side and slumps to his knees – the only thing preventing him from slamming into the floor face first is the ropes securing his hands behind the beam.

  
“Stop it!” Sam growls, pulling on his restraints with renewed fervor. He doesn’t even notice how the hand on his chest is slowly traveling downwards, fingertips following the vertical seam just next to the buttons on his shirt and almost all the way down to his belt. All he seems able to focus on right now is his brother’s labored breathing and the slight rattle that has started to accompany it. 

  
“Where’s the amulet?” the demon repeats, his fingers now trailing along his belt buckle, lightly grazing it. But Sam doesn’t feel it. All he can think about is how to get the bastard to stop hurting his brother. Angrily he flicks his gaze back to the demon standing way too close to him:

  
“I! Don’t! Know!” he snarls, feeling how his teeth grind against each other when he bites down hard enough to almost crack one of them.

  
“Oh?” demon number two says, grabbing a hold of Dean’s collar and pulling him to his feet with a rough jerk, almost tearing the flannel in the process.

  
“How many do you think he can take?” he asks, a smile tugging on his lips as he balls his hand into a fist again. Blood is oozing from the older Winchester’s bottom lip, scarlet streaks smeared out over both his chin and his cheek. A huff escapes Dean as he manages to focus his eyes enough to actually see straight in a defiant attempt to stare down the demon:

  
“Fuck you,” he spits, dots of scarlet spittle hitting the demon’s face in a thin spray. Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees his little brother wince at his words – but before he can think about it any further another fist finds its landing space on his cheekbone, whipping his head to the side so forcefully that he’s uncertain if his head is going to fly right off his neck. A ringing noise with the overwhelming volume of a blaring concert hall fills his ears and he finds himself on his knees once again, only held up by the rope.   
  


“Stop!” Sam yells, watching as his older brother dangles from his restraints, head drooping towards his chest and a thin rope of bloody saliva drooling from his mouth.

  
“I don’t know where it is!” the young hunter adds in a voice that is just a bit too shaky for his liking. But the demons don’t seem to hear him or even acknowledge his statement, because they’re just grinning at each other, white teeth shimmering in the dim light spilling in through the barn’s windows high above. And before he can register it a booted foot collides with Dean’s side, giving off a ‘crack’ loud enough to reverberate between the walls.

  
“Whenever you’re ready, Sammy…” the demon in front of him says lowly, letting out an amused huff at his colleague’s handiwork.

  
Dean is loudly wheezing by now, his chest rapidly heaving as he sucks in air through his bruised mouth, the slight rattle of his lungs still far too prominent for Sam to be able to ignore. He probably has a punctured lung, judging by the sound of it, and Sam can feel his own pulse skyrocket. 

  
"We can do this all day though... It's quite liberating actually," the demon in front of Dean muses with a contemplative expression on his face. Sam looks at his brother, and he swears that his tongue is dry enough to practically glue itself to the roof of his mouth because he has trouble even swallowing, let alone form a sentence.

  
“Dean…?” he croaks, his hazel gaze darting up and down his brother’s limp body to check for vital signs, to assess the damage. But his older brother merely lets out a grunt, eyes half-way closed. And that damn rattle is still there, still sounding like way too much liquid – blood – is quickly pooling where it definitely shouldn’t. His brother is hurt. Badly. And Sam can’t slip his hands out of the rope trapping them behind the beam, can’t seem to wriggle loose or find any weak spot in the knots to exploit.

  
“Dean, you gotta tell them…!” he bursts out, desperation flooding his mind as he speaks the words – and instantly he regrets it. He wants to slap himself across the face, wants to unsay it. But he can’t. It’s too late. The words have left him, rushed out of his mouth without his permission, and now the two demons wear an expression like that of a child at Christmas.

  
“Aaah! So Dean knows and you don’t? Really? Tsk, tsk… And here we thought you two were so close,” the one in front of Sam says, voice thick with sarcasm. The young Winchester nervously darts his gaze back to look at his brother when demon number two grabs Dean’s hair and wrings his head back, earning a wheezy grunt from him. Narrowing his eyes into two angry slits of black the demon lets his lips curve up into a smile:

  
“Well… You better spit it out, Dean-o. Where’s the damn amulet?” he asks, glaring down at the bloodied and motionless hunter in front of him. Dean is seeing double at this point, his entire body throbbing and aching and zaps of pain zinging around in all directions. Still, he manages to lock eyes with the bastard in front of him:

  
“Go to hell,” he spits, a scarlet glob of bloody saliva dribbling down his chin. A look of surprise flashes across the demon’s pale features, but only for a brief moment. Too brief, in fact. It’s far too quickly replaced by a snarl and within a split second the steel cap of a boot’s nose slams into Dean’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him again. The sound is horrific, and this time Dean actually feels how a rib snaps in two, making a strangled groan spill from his lips.

  
“Dean!” Sam’s voice yells, and dizzily the older Winchester turns his head the little he is capable of – but just enough to look at his little brother out of the corner of his eye – and to Sam’s disbelief he sends him the tiniest of smiles. He actually _smiles_. Apparently, his confidence is still intact even though small bubbles of blood have started to coat his bottom lip with each stuttered breath.

 _  
'How can he possibly be smiling right now?’_ Sam thinks to himself frantically, fingers desperately searching the ropes and the wooden beam for anything of use but finding absolutely nothing. The pins up their sleeves have long been taken away as well. 

_  
'Doesn’t he know he can’t take any more?’_ the little voice in Sam’s head yells, and he grits his teeth when the rope digs into his wrists, drawing blood when he pulls a little harder. But it’s useless. He knows that he can’t get out of them. They’re simply too tight and far too expertly tied, leaving him to feel utterly helpless. He wishes that he knew where that damn amulet is because he can’t bear to watch this. He refuses to. He can’t watch his brother get beaten to death because he’s too stubborn to know when a fight is lost. The least he could do is stall and buy them some more time, not just straight up offend their captors. For his own sake. 

  
“S’alright, Sammy…” Dean slurs, sending him a brilliant, red smile.

  
“These dickbags are dumber than dirt if they think they’re gonna get it out of me this easy,” he says, glaring right back up at the demon in front of him, undeterred. A huff automatically escapes the black-eyed man in response, anger creeping into his expression. But as he lifts his foot again, ready to deliver another brutal kick, his colleague holds out his hand a little.

  
“Wait…!” he says, looking from his friend to Dean and back again.

  
“Last time I checked dead men tell no tales, so you better stop that,” he mutters and sends his partner in crime an annoyed glare, jet black and contemplative. It looks like the cogs are really turning in his head, and he sends Sam a small smile that makes the young Winchester feel like he and his brother are not even remotely close to being out of the water just yet. In fact, the look in those pitch-black eyes makes icy chills roll up and down his spine. _‘At least they stopped beating him,’_ he thinks to himself, feeling grateful that the demons realized what Dean didn’t and stopped in time. Swallowing dryly Sam flicks his gaze from Dean and back to the demon when the creature leans in a little closer:

  
“I think it’s time to shake it up a bit,” the man says, and his breath fans across Sam's face in gusts of moist air that make him cringe. 

  
"Don't you think?" the demon purrs and suddenly his hand grabs the young hunter's chin, fingertips painfully digging into the skin as he stares him down:

  
"See, I'm thinking that Dean-o here isn't gonna spill the beans... Unless of course there's more at stake," he says, squeezing Sam's chin and jaw hard enough to bruise. A small chuckle escapes demon number two who is looking at his colleague, seemingly knowing exactly where this is headed. Sam just knits his brows together angrily and tries to whip his head to the side and out of the mean grip - but of course, the hand doesn't budge. 

  
"You can beat me up all you want. You'll never get that amulet…" he says, trying to sound as confident as he can. There is however a tiny sliver of doubt in his mind that makes him question if Dean is really going to keep silent if they start beating the crap out of someone else but himself. He quickly shoots him a glance, trying to communicate that it's okay. He can take a beating. It's not like he hasn't before. 

  
"Oh, Sammy. Who says we'll beat you up? That's so unimaginative," demon number one says, and suddenly a finger is trailing along his belt again, playfully caressing the leather. This time Sam isn't too distracted to notice and he frowns, not sure what the hell the bastard is on about. 

  
"No, I think we're gonna take the more… Creative approach this time, mm?" the black-eyed man says and tugs on Sam's belt a little. Instantly the young man freezes, confusion washing through him along with a very uncomfortable feeling that he can't quite place. 

  
Next to him, Dean is still slumped on his knees, arms stretched out behind him at an awkward angle. Still, the older Winchester manages to lift his head a little:

  
"If you touch him, I swear to God…" he says, voice deep and wheezy - and there's no doubt in anyone's mind that he is dead serious. Still, the demons just snicker. 

  
"Oh, I'm gonna touch him. And you're gonna tell me where the amulet is," the creature in front of Sam states, just smirking at the threat. 

  
"Dean, it's okay—" Sam begins, but he is cut off when suddenly a set of fingers grab his shirt, yanking at it. Hard. With a loud 'ritch' the flannel tears, buttons going flying as the shirt is ripped open. A tiny gasp escapes Sam when his chest is exposed to the cool air in the barn and his brows knit themselves together a little closer. 

  
"What're you doing?" Dean spits from the sideline when the demon places his hands on Sam's tanned skin, cold palms resting just on top of the anti-possession tattoo. If the young hunter had the maneuverability to he would jump from the unexpected touch.  
  


"Just getting creative," the demon replies, fingertips gently following every dip and curve of muscle as they venture down Sam's chest and onto his belly. A shiver automatically rolls down the hunter's spine like icy cascades of water, goosebumps rising everywhere. 

  
"Where's the amulet?" the demon asks, eyes focused on his fingertips as they curiously caress the skin. It's incredibly smooth and warm and for a moment the creature looks truly mesmerized by it. Dean just lets out a hiss, fighting to keep his head from drooping so low that he can't keep an eye on the demon. 

  
"Fuck you! Wanna beat me up?? Fine!! But if you lay hands on my brother I swear I'm gonna rip you apart the second—" 

  
"Yeah? I'm gonna lay hands on him, alright. Want my advice? You best start complying ‘cause no-one is gonna see the bruises on your brother… Not the ones we intend to leave," the demon snaps, smirking when both hunters frown in confusion.   
  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asks and this time Sam thinks he can hear a tiny tremble in his voice that wasn't there moments ago. 

  
"Not the clever one, are you?" the demon says. In the same moment, fingers begin to undo Sam's belt, the metallic clank of the buckle being opened piercing the tense silence in the barn. Instantly the young Winchester's eyes grow wide:

  
“Whoa, wait, what’re you—“

  
"Shut up!" the demon interrupts, yanking the belt open only to begin fumbling to grab the pull tab on his zipper. With a snarl, Sam tries to twist to the side, tries to dislodge the hand that has absolutely no business anywhere near his crotch – but he can’t move much. With his arms tied behind his back, trapped behind the solid frame of the beam, all he manages to do is squirm awkwardly.

  
“Don’t touch me!” he hisses, and he can’t ignore how the tempo of his pulse is steadily climbing, thrumming away faster and faster the harder the hand works to grab the pull tab. And he squirms. He is arching and twisting the best he possibly can in an attempt to sabotage the demon's mission to undress him. But all he earns is a toothy chuckle from the bastard in front of him, and suddenly another hand grabs his hip to steady him. It has the desired effect; it manages to still the young hunter just long enough for the black-eyed man to catch the pull tab between his bony fingertips.

_  
‘ZIIIP’_

  
The sound is surprisingly loud and Sam lets out an angry grunt when his fly opens, revealing the dark blue trunks underneath. Another chuckle escapes the demon and he shoots Sam a short, indifferent glance as he bares his teeth in a humorless grin:

  
“Let’s see what you’ve got down here, Sammy boy, mm?” he says and suddenly a large hand is roughly cupping Sam’s privates through the soft cotton of the underwear. Instantly the young hunter flinches, trying to back away from the invasive touch, pressing his back against the wooden beam as if he can magically push his way right through it. But of course, it doesn’t give as much as an inch.

  
“Get your hands off me!!” he growls, his voice booming with both anger and disgust. But the demon just sends him a crooked smile, starting to rub his fingers against the bulge in the underwear with a strange sort of interest that makes Sam’s skin crawl. And without much hesitation the young Winchester does the only thing he can think of right now – with a hiss he kicks out his foot, delivering a vicious blow to the demon’s shin. It’s powerful enough to make the man lose his grip on him and stumble backward with a pained snarl, almost tripping on his own feet when he tries to regain his balance. At first, he looks surprised like he somehow wasn’t at all expecting that reaction. _‘This bag of filth must be even dumber than he looks,’_ Sam thinks to himself while he just keeps glaring at the man in front of him, his chest heaving rapidly as he grits his teeth. But the demon narrows his eyes at him:

  
“Wrong move!” he spits and in a flash he’s right back in Sam’s personal space, his hand forcefully shoving its way past the elastic waistband of the trunks to grip the young hunter tight. 

  
A shocked yelp escapes Sam and he instantly begins to thrash, no longer caring about the way his wrists are getting rubbed raw and bloody from the ropes.

  
“Stop it! Get off!!” he yells, but the demon only grips him tighter. As the cold and clammy fist closes harder around him he realizes that he is forced to stand still unless he wants to inflict some serious pain on himself. And so he does the only thing he can do - he freezes to the spot like a statue. With his breath coming out in short, irregular puffs he stares at the demon with an incredulous expression on his face:

  
“What the hell’s wrong with you?!” he hisses, and he hates the slightly high-pitched sound suddenly creeping into his voice. Standing completely still – and almost pressed chest to chest with the demon – he can feel himself shudder and a flush is spreading all the way from his face to his chest. He doesn’t know if it’s from anger or embarrassment though. Maybe both. 

  
“Hey! Leave him alone, you god damn pervert!” Dean slurs from the sideline, a cough ending his sentence and making more bloody bubbles seep out between his lips.

  
“Then tell us where the amulet is,” the demon just says, but his glance doesn’t stray from Sam for as much as a second. Instead, it’s practically glued to him, wandering up and down his body in a weird way that makes an eerie sort of uneasiness spread in the young hunter’s mind. _‘Why is he looking at me like that?’_ he asks himself frantically, and he can’t help but wince when the cold hand tugs on him a little. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Dean’s face contort into an angry grimace, silence falling in the barn.

  
“Tsk, tsk… Looks like big brother ain’t coming to your rescue, huh?” the demon says, and Sam can feel the fingers begin to knead the tender flesh a little, stroking his soft length with slow and determined movements. The feeling makes his stomach flip and he wants to recoil but meets nothing but unforgiving wood and tight rope. And both of the black-eyed men let out a laugh that feels like it’s ringing in Sam’s ears right along with the deafening roaring of his own pulse.

  
“You’re sick!!” he snarls. But he doesn’t move. He can’t.

  
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it…” the demon says and turns his head a little to look at his colleague:

  
“Help me hold ‘im,” he then orders and instantly Sam’s blood runs cold. The demon in front of Dean nods and looks down at the older Winchester with a malicious expression on his face.

  
“Sure thing. You just enjoy the show now,” he says and pats Dean’s head. Instantly the hunter whips his head to the side and away from the touch like it’s a red-hot poker.

  
“Yeah… Quite the voyeur, aren’t ya, Dean-o?” the other demon smirks as his friend walks over to him, and now four black eyes are fixed on Sam. The tension in the old barn can be cut with a butter knife at this point, and neither hunter can fathom what is going on. Based on the demons’ bizarre behavior both of them have a nagging suspicion though, but it’s far too dreadful to even begin to imagine. Surely they are mistaken.

  
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” the first demon then says, and finally his hand retreats from Sam’s underwear, making the hunter draw in a shaky breath of relief. But it’s short-lived. Suddenly two sets of hands are on him, lifting his legs up from the floor as the demons begin to tug and yank on his jeans.

  
“What’re you- no, stop!!” Sam yells, kicking wildly. But with a demon with superhuman strength clinging to each of his legs it just becomes a weird-looking flinch and not at all the bone-snapping demonstration of physical strength that he had intended it to be.

  
“Oooh! Feisty!” one of them chuckles, grabbing the waistband of the jeans and pulling. As the denim peels away and down over Sam’s hips the underwear follows it, stripping him bare inch by inch. 

_  
‘What’s happening!?’_ the small voice in his head shrieks and he tries to twist and turn, kick and toss – but with his arms tied securely behind him, it doesn’t help him one bit. Instead, it feels like his shoulders are about to get dislocated. And the jeans keep getting pulled down his legs further and further, exposing more skin with each yank.

  
“I’m gonna kill you!” Sam roars when finally the jeans are torn off his body completely, his underwear following them and getting tossed to the floor along with his boots. Only wearing his socks and torn shirt he tries to kick again – but it is completely in vain. He doesn’t stand a chance against a demon’s strength, let alone two of them. And he knows it.

  
“Aww. Look at him making threats. It’s kinda cute,” the one right in front of him says, still holding on to one of his legs and digging his fingers into the thick muscle so hard that it's bound to leave a mark. He then leans in closer, so close that the tip of his nose almost touches Sam’s – and with an exaggerated hum of approval he sucks one of his own fingers into his mouth, covering it in saliva.

  
“Ready?” he grins. Sam’s eyes go impossibly wide and his mouth drops open as his mind seems to come to a screeching halt. His heart skips a couple of beats in his chest as he just stares into those black voids in front of him and it finally dawns on him that the demon is absolutely serious.

  
"N-No…! You c-can’t—“ he begins, but the sentence turns into a panicked whine when the black-eyed man stuffs his hand in between his legs, long fingers slick with saliva searching for his entrance. As it slips past his perineum Sam instinctively bucks into the air in a helpless attempt to move away, the feeling of being touched there far too alien and far too terrifying for him to even begin to process. But his efforts are completely in vain when both demons have such a firm grip on his legs. All he manages is to squirm and writhe like a worm pulled from the ground, his kicks becoming nothing more than weak-looking twitches of his socked feet. The back of his neck is pressed uncomfortably hard against the wooden beam when the demons lift his legs just a bit higher, spreading them further apart. A jab of pain shoots through his shoulders, tendons and joints complaining at the awkward angle and unnatural pull, but he doesn’t feel it. All he can feel right now are the slick and cold fingers now probing at his hole, pushing and rubbing.

  
“No!! No! Get away, get off…! Stop!!” he hisses, scrunching his face up in a pained grimace when the fingers push harder, nudging their tips against the furled muscle hard enough to almost breach it.

  
“Don’t touch him!! Don’t fucking touch him, you sick sons of bitches!!” Dean’s voice growls from somewhere next to him, and Sam swears he can actually hear the rough hemp rope gnaw through his brother’s skin as he pulls on it. Every single one of his senses is on high alert and he’s sucking in short, shallow breaths of air through his nose as pure dread begins to spread in his mind. _‘They’re really gonna do this,’_ the little voice in his head screams before that too vanishes in a whirlwind of fear. It feels like all logical thought is getting washed away, like all he’s left with is full-blown panic. And the demons just laugh, sending each other a victorious grin. As the rumbling sound of their amusement echo in the barn and inside his head, Sam lets out a strangled sound, eyes squeezed shut. And then the fingers between his legs push harder as their owner leans in a little closer: 

  
“Come on, Sammy, lemme in,” he purrs, ignoring how the young hunter trembles and shakes, every muscle in his body going as stiff as board and filling with lactic acid as he helplessly tries to fight back. 

  
“Stop!! I’ll-I’ll tell you…!”

  
Instantly the pressure against Sam stops like a flip of a switch. Dean’s voice seems to still hang in the air, the desperate words echoing around in the barn even though silence has fallen several long seconds ago. The demons have both stilled and the one with his hands between Sam’s legs turns his head towards Dean ever so slightly, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

  
“Oh, really? Ready to talk now?” he asks, eyeing Dean up and down as he still sits there on his knees, motionless. The hunter has given up trying to get to his feet by now because he simply doesn’t have the strength. Not with the impressive number of injuries he has managed to pile up. Clenching his jaw he nods.

  
“Just don’t hurt him,” he says lowly, trying to focus his eyes on the demons towering next to him. Sam is still helplessly dangling in the air between them, his lower body nearly at a horizontal angle. And the look on his face is something Dean will surely never forget. No, that petrified expression is without a doubt etched into his mind for good.

  
“Spit it out!” the demon in charge barks, but his hand is yet to retreat from the young hunter’s ass. His fingertips are still there, still lightly rubbing against the clenched entrance – but at least they’re no longer pushing at it.

  
“Alright...! Alright, just… Just take it easy!” Dean rasps, shuffling his knees a little and wincing when the movement sends a new spike of pain through his body.

  
“You’re stalling,” the demon says, eyes narrowing:

  
“But guess what? I’m not waitin’, so unless you wanna see your brother get his ass fucked right now you better spill!” he states, nudging his fingers hard enough against Sam to make the young man let out a shocked yelp.

  
“It’s _on_ me, okay!? It’s-It’s in my pocket…!” Dean bursts out, and it almost looks like the hunter’s face starts to heat up, a deep pink color almost engulfing the freckles on the otherwise pale skin. Sam can’t tell if it’s from anger or guilt though. And he’s not sure if he wants to know. How can Dean have had the amulet this entire time without Sam even knowing? Well, okay, suddenly getting jumped like this had left them with zero time to converse or come up with any type of plan and Dean hadn’t exactly had the chance to let him in on anything.

  
“Check it out,” the demon says, giving his friend a quick nod of his head. Simultaneously he slips his hand out from between Sam’s thighs to grab his other leg when his colleague lets go of it. A shaky exhale leaves the young Winchester. He didn’t even know that he had been holding his breath – but apparently, that is the case, because now the room is spinning slightly and tiny, white dots sail around in his field of vision. Ignoring it he warily watches as the other demon approaches his brother, crouching down in front of him. The air seems to be crackling with tension.

  
“Which pocket?” the demon asks, piercing Dean with his onyx glare. Trying to swallow down a cough the hunter licks his bloody lip, shortly glancing over at Sam who is still suspended in the air, strong arms hooked around both of his knees.

  
“Back…” he just says, trying to suppress another cough. The rattle accompanying his breathing has grown a lot louder, and Sam’s gut churns by the sound of it. There’s absolutely no doubt that his big brother is in dire need of medical attention. And it scares the hell out of him. Because this isn’t the way it’s supposed to go.

  
Nervously the young Winchester darts his glance back to look at the demon holding his legs, contemplating if he should try to lash out. Maybe he will be able to catch him in the jaw if he can just get a good kick in. But what’s the use? His hands are still trapped. And that other scumbag is way too close to his brother for him to dare to try anything right now. He will probably just aggravate the demons further and bring more pain upon himself and Dean. No, better stay still and just wait for a moment. Wait for the _right_ moment. That would surely be the best option right now. ‘ _Because the moment of opportunity has to come at some point, right?’_ he thinks to himself, trying to ignore the uncertainty whirling around in his mind, making its presence known by sending a shiver through him. Shaking it off the best he can he looks back at Dean, reluctantly abandoning the idea of kicking the demon’s face in.

  
“Let’s see…” the bastard crouching in front of Dean says as he moves to the side, reaching around the kneeling hunter in order to stick a hand in one of his back pockets.

  
“But trust me, if you’re lying—“

  
“I’m not,” Dean coughs, wincing as a hand grabs his shoulder while the other one rummages about in his pocket eagerly. 

  
An annoyed snarl escapes the demon when he finds the first pocket to be empty, and the hand on the hunter’s shoulder clamps down hard enough to make it feel like several small blood vessels are bursting just underneath the skin.

  
“Oth-Other one!” Dean gasps, wondering if he’s about to break his shoulder as well. He gets a huff in response and the demon sticks his hand in the last pocket, digging into it like a starving raccoon diving into a trash can for scraps.

  
“Aaaah, Dean-o…” the demon hums in his ear and leans back a bit, sending his friend a glance.

  
“Guess the truth _can_ be pulled from that smart mouth of yours!” he smirks and lifts his hand into the air – from it dangles a small silver amulet in a delicate hayseed chain, twinkling in the dim light.

  
“Yup! As long as the leverage is right!” the other demon snickers, tugging on Sam’s legs demonstratively. Dean just glares at him, ignoring how the demon in front of him lets out an impressed whistle while he studies the silvery pendant. Ornate scribbling covers every tiny inch of it, and a shiver rolls through Dean when he realizes just how powerful this seemingly innocent piece of jewelry is: And that he has just handed it over to the very people who were never supposed to possess it. Hell, he and Sam had made it their mission to hide it as far away from these assholes as physically possible, to prevent any and all dark powers from getting their hands on it. But now this. Now he’s gone and basically served it to them on a silver platter. 

  
“Alright, you got what you wanted,” Dean says, trying his best to keep the defeat out of his voice.

  
“Now let us go,” he says and shuffles once again, his kneecaps smarting and throbbing from resting against the hard floor of the barn for so long. But he regrets moving right away when his broken ribs protest by sending searing pain through his body, resulting in a coughing fit. It feels like his ribcage is about to explode and his vision goes all black for a few seconds while more scarlet bubbles make it out of his mouth only to burst.

  
“Let you go? Already?” the demon holding Sam says, sounding both surprised and amused at the same time. He then nods at his friend to come over. As the black-eyed man gets back up and walks away from Dean, the hunter automatically tries to reach for him and grab his leg, completely forgetting about his restraints for a second. He’s apparently a bit more dazed than he thought.

  
“Who says I’m done?” the demon between Sam’s legs asks, letting his pitch-black gaze settle on the young Winchester once again.

  
“Believe me… You’re done!” Dean hisses, not missing the weird undertone the voice is laced with. The malice practically drips from it too, and the way that black glance rakes over his little brother’s exposed body makes his blood feel like it’s boiling. But the demon just laughs at the way the older hunter spits the words, completely ignoring the not so subtle threat. 

  
“I’m really not," he just says. And with that, he flicks his gaze up to look at his colleague, a smug smirk on his pale face. Even though no words are spoken between the two it seems like the other demon knows exactly what his friend is communicating because suddenly he grabs a hold of Sam’s leg again, four hands now gripping him tight.

  
“Hey!?” Sam spits when the pointy fingers dig into his skin and his thighs are forced to part once more, his legs being spread wide. Instantly he tenses, trying to press his knees together, to kick or squirm enough for them to lose their grip on him - but little does it help.

  
“Didn’t think we’d just let you waltz outta here without a little something to remember us by, did you?” the demon in charge smiles.

  
Sam glares at him for a moment, wide-eyed and with his brows furrowed. The little voice in his head is practically wailing now and his thoughts whirl around in one big, jumbled-up mess that he can’t make heads or tails of.

  
“You got the amulet!! Y-You have no reason to—” Sam begins, but a rough slap on his inner thigh makes him jolt and bite back a hiss.

  
“Reason?? Who needs a reason? We just want to have a little fun, Sammy… Oh, and maybe teach you a lesson or two,” the black-eyed man says, eyeing the young Winchester up and down while a cruel smile spreads on his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re dead, you hear me?! Both of you!” Dean shouts, straining weakly against the rope as he keeps fighting to prevent his head from just lolling.

  
“Oh, cram it!” demon number two snarls and sends the older hunter an annoyed glare. At the same moment, the hands tighten their grip on Sam, nails digging into his flesh hard enough to leave red marks in the shape of crescent moons on his skin. And that’s when the young Winchester sees how the one in charge drops one of his hands to his own pants. He doesn’t want to look. He really doesn’t. But automatically Sam’s gaze follows the movement – only to fix on a prominent bulge now raising a tent in the demon’s tweed pants.  
  


“Mind if I take ya for a little test drive?” the black-eyed man then purrs as he pulls on the zipper, opening it in one fluid motion while he leans down towards Sam a little:

  
“I heard so much about you, Sammy... Gotta know what you feel like,” he whispers, puffs of his breath hitting Sam’s face and making some strands of his hair sway in the breeze. And instantly the young hunter freezes, all color draining from him and leaving his complexion to suddenly look ashen. _‘No, you misunderstand!’_ his mind screams at him, shrill and panicked. Because this has to be a misunderstanding. It has to be. Not even a demon would do something so cruel. Would he?

  
“Don’t!” Sam hears himself say, but his voice sounds far more scared than commanding all of a sudden. Like it’s trembling in the effort to sound just somewhat firm but still failing to. And the smirk on the demon’s face instantly widens:

  
“Don’t? Don’t be such a prude!” he just says with a grin, and suddenly he is fishing out his dick from the confinement of the silk boxer shorts his meat suit is wearing. 

  
In an instant, it feels like Sam’s tongue and throat have gone as dry as sandpaper, and he can’t help but fix his gaze on the way too hard cock obscenely sticking out of the demon’s fly, red and angry and already glistening with pre-cum. 

  
“No!! Don’t-Don’t do this…!!”

  
Sam doesn’t even realize that he is saying anything – the words make it out all on their own and without his permission when the demon positions himself between his parted legs, letting the hunter’s trembling thighs bracket his hips.

  
“Oh, I’m gonna do this…” the black-eyed man murmurs and tightens his grip on Sam’s leg, a strong arm hooked around his knee - and his accomplice follows suit when the hunter tries to kick.

  
“… And I’m gonna enjoy it,” the demon finishes, letting out an amused huff when Sam’s socked foot barely manages to nudge his shoulder in a hopeless attempt to kick him. Fear, frustration, anger and a bunch of other emotions that the young Winchester can’t even begin to keep track of surge through him and he narrows his eyes at the two creatures in front of him, chest heaving and heart racing:

  
“We’ll hunt you down! You do this and I swear you’ll be looking over your shoulder for rest of—“

  
“Yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that, bad boy!” demon number two mocks, watching through hooded eyes as his friend slowly gives himself a couple of experimental strokes as he lines up.

  
As soon as Sam feels the blunt and slick head of the demon’s dick wedge itself in between his ass cheeks, he bucks into the air, trying to escape it – but the strong grip on his knees doesn’t allow him to move much more than an inch or two. 

  
"No!!!" he croaks, panic consuming his mind when the flared head of the demon's dick begins to push against his entrance, rubbing back and forth. The slippery length feels almost spongy but way too hard at the same time, so alien and so incredibly wrong that Sam forgets to breathe. From the sideline, he thinks he hears his brother protest, a long series of spluttering coughs mixed in with threats leaving his mouth in a continuous loop. But the black–eyed men don’t pay him any attention. Instead, they grip the young hunter tighter, forcefully steadying him as the demon in charge pushes harder.

  
“Yeah, go ahead and fight me, Sammy boy! It’ll only make it hurt more,” he grunts, ignoring how Sam’s legs attempt to kick, socked feet nudging him uselessly as they hover helplessly in the air. A choked yelp escapes the young Winchester when he feels the pressure increase and he squeezes his eyes shut:

  
“No! Don’t! P-Please…!!” he groans, snapping for air when the demon pushes harder yet. But this time the pressure is too much for the clenched muscle to withstand – and with a quick snap of his hips, the demon forces the head of his cock inside. 

  
The pain is excruciating, and the sound that rushes out of Sam’s mouth is a weird combination of a scream and the sound someone would make when punched square in the gut. The whole world comes to a halt, his mind going on strike for a few seconds while pain ricochets through him like a stray bullet bouncing off every nerve ending. Somewhere he hears his brother’s voice, but he can’t make out any words because his ears seem to be filled with a high-pitched ringing along with the hammering of his own pulse.

  
“Oh, fuck…! Fuck, you’re tight!” the demon between his legs grunts, his hips stuttering a little when the dry channel hugs him tight enough to chafe them both. But that doesn’t deter him. In fact, he doesn’t seem to mind the pain it causes at all because he’s breathing heavier already and far too quickly he resumes his pushing, nudging and pressing deeper inside the hunter’s resisting body.

  
“Please…!!”

  
Sam doesn’t even hear his own plea, doesn’t register it. Instead, wheezy gasps make it out of his mouth and the entire room feels like it’s spinning even though his eyes are firmly squeezed shut. His body is covered in goosebumps and cold sweat is beading on every inch of his tanned skin, covering him in a shimmery sheet. Pain is shooting up his spine, spreading in all directions in bursts of white-hot agony as the demon keeps pushing, vulgar words leaving his lips in throaty moans:

  
“Love it- shit – love it when you beg, you fuckin’ slut- oh, fuck, such a tight ass…!” he babbles, rolling his hips and driving another inch of his thick length inside the far too narrow channel. 

  
A hoarse cry instantly spills from Sam when it feels like something tears, warm liquid beginning to trickle down his skin in small streams only to drip down on the barn floor to form scarlet dots on the cement. Once again his mind seems to flicker to black, threatening to shut down – and he hopes it does. He wishes for it to just stay off, to spare him from this. But just as quickly as it went offline it comes blasting right back into consciousness and he lets out a whimper as reality hits him like a derailed freight train.

  
“Shit, you make such pretty sounds, Sammy…!” the demon moans, reveling in how the young hunter writhes and gasps for air, his face flushed a bright red while his hands helplessly keep pulling at the rope behind the beam. The way his fighting body tries to resist only adds to the creature’s pleasure; pain feels different when you’re a demon, and this one doesn’t at all mind the scrapes he’s sustaining every time he pushes in deeper and Sam’s walls clamp down on him like a vice.

  
“Fuckin’ whore… Just look at that ass swallowing my cock!” he grunts – and with that he bucks his hips, forcing the last couple of inches inside. As he bottoms out, heavy balls come to rest against Sam’s skin and the young hunter lets out something close to a wail. By now he’s heaving for air, his face almost completely covered by a curtain of sweat-drenched hair. He’s kind of grateful for that because the last thing he wants right now is for the demons to look at him. He wants to hide, to disassociate, to block out everything that is happening and shove it far, far away and into some dark and hidden corner of his mind. But even though he has trained disassociation more times than he can count as a hunter, he was never prepared for this kind of scenario. This kind of torture. It’s like he can’t get his mind to listen, to actually do what he has trained it to without just slipping right back into the present. He’s stuck. Both physically and mentally.

  
“Aww, the little hunter's all stuffed!” the demon snickers, fingertips sinking deeper into Sam’s thighs when he tries to arch away once a pelvis presses flush against him in an attempt to drive the cock in even deeper. A keening noise spills from Sam and he’s pretty sure that the wetness on his face isn’t just sweat anymore.

  
“Is he crying?” demon number two asks in amusement and Sam feels rough fingers brushing the strands of hair away from his face. Still with his eyes screwed shut he tries to flinch away from the touch, hating that his tears have been discovered. And there’s nowhere to hide. None. A whimper sounding far too close to a sob escapes him when a calloused set of fingers grip his jaw, a thumb trailing along his bottom lip.

  
“Not so tough now, huh?” the demon whispers, a victorious expression on his face. Wheezing for air Sam keeps his eyes shut, keeps trying to block everything out. But he is still failing miserably. If he could he would smack the back of his head into the beam in the hopes of knocking himself out, but with the back of his neck pressed against the wooden surface like this, he has no chance of doing so. Trying to stop a sob from wracking his body, he listens for his brother instead, tries to find some comfort in the familiarity of his voice. Dean is still yelling and weakly thrashing next to them, but most of the words trying to leave him get swallowed up by wet coughs – and that isn’t helping Sam’s fear at all.

  
“L-Leave 'm alone…!” Dean manages to splutter before another cough turns whatever he was going to say next into a gargling, guttural noise. His face is contorted and if Sam could get himself to look at him he would know that his eyes are red and overflowing now, tears dripping down his cheeks.

  
“So pretty for us, Sammy…” the demon in charge moans, completely ignoring Dean and his protests. With a grunt coming from somewhere deep in his chest he then begins to pull back out, reveling in the way the young hunter tries to hold back a cry and fails to. It just spills out between his lips, loud and raw and shaky. It’s like he can’t control his body’s reactions at all anymore, can’t contain any of the feelings thundering through him. It’s too much. And it’s completely out of his control.

  
“You feel so fuckin’ good,” the black-eyed man says breathlessly when only the tip of his cock remains inside the resisting body, the flared head catching on Sam’s rim and ripping another cry from him. 

  
By now the young Winchester’s mind is spinning so fast that he doesn’t really know what’s up and what’s down, constant pain coursing through him only to spike, again and again, every time the demon moves as much as a millimeter. As a distraction, he desperately tries to focus on the noises his brother is making, but it’s like he can’t really pinpoint them. Like he has fallen silent. Or maybe it’s just the ringing in his ears and his own pulse drowning out the sound? Either way, it makes his heart beat even faster when he realizes that he actually doesn’t know if Dean is still conscious. Or even alive. A fresh rush of panic shoots through his mind and he snaps for air.

  
“D-Dean…?” he hears himself croak, but it’s so low and shaky that he’s not sure if it’s even audible. And there’s no response.

  
“Nah. Big brother can’t help you now,” the demon between his legs just says – and then he snaps his hips forward. As the thick length is forced inside of him once again, Sam lets out another cry and this time it’s loud enough to echo in the barn, bouncing off the walls. It feels like he’s being split in two. Like his insides are being torn to shreds. But still, unconsciousness refuses to swallow him. Instead, it keeps hovering somewhere just out of reach, and every time it seems close enough to shut down his mind it slips away from him. There's no escape. No, he’s painfully present and far too aware of what is happening to his body. Every inch of flesh is quivering, every fiber in his body screaming and he can’t do anything about it. He’s powerless. And he knows it.

  
“Damn, you’re one tight fuck…” the demon grunts as he begins to pull out again – this time to slam right back in quick and hard enough to almost punch the air out of the hunter’s lungs.

  
The slapping sound of skin on skin is nauseating, and Sam’s gut twists and churns when the black-eyed man sets a brutal pace, aided by the blood slowly seeping out around the shaft of his dick. Working as a lubricant it makes it a bit easier for the demon to go faster, the now slippery channel no longer chafing him. And he rolls his hips, fucking in and out of the tight heat with smooth thrusts, leaving Sam to pant and writhe and whimper. The back of his neck is pressed hard against the beam, his socked feet hovering helplessly in the air and once again he calls for his brother.

  
“Dea-ean…!” he rasps, his cry cut in two by a particularly hard thrust. But still, there’s no answer. Feeling a new wave of fear wash through him he convinces himself to crack his eyes open, and he tries to avoid looking at the demons, tries to avoid their black glares piercing him to the bone. He can’t turn his head much in this position, but he tries anyway, and it instantly sends a ripple of pain through the back of his neck.

  
“Dean…!” he gasps when he manages to look at his brother out of the corner of his eye. Because he still doesn’t respond and his body is just sagging, limply dangling from the beam like a ragdoll. Ropes of bloody drool seep out of his mouth as he slumps there on his knees, staining the cement floor. And there’s no reaction. Sam can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

  
“Dean!!?” he repeats and for a split second fear overrides the intensity of the pain he’s feeling, giving him just enough strength to thrash once again. But it doesn’t last long. As soon as he moves, muscles tensing and flexing, the pain triples – and he lets out an agonized groan mixed with a yelp.

  
“Yeah! Love when you clench like that, boy!” the demon between his legs moans, clearly appreciating how Sam is involuntarily clamping down on him when he moves. The other creature lets out a laugh at that, black eyes glued to his friend’s veiny length as it pumps in and out tirelessly, coated in a thin layer of blood. Licking his lips he leans down towards the hunter a little, gripping his jaw:

  
“Why don’t you do that again, mm?” he says softly and his voice sounds almost compassionate, almost loving. Sam can’t hold back a sob at that – it just tumbles out of his mouth and he screws his eyes shut once more.

  
“No…! P-Please…!” he whimpers, and this time he can’t hold back the tears that break free to roll down his cheeks, flowing down his skin in fat streams. Mortified he realizes that he is crying uninhibitedly now. And he’s not even trying to hide it.

  
“Do it… Or I’ll make you,” the demon purrs, his voice honey-sweet but dripping with venom. Sam tries to shake his head only to find that he can’t, forgetting about the way the back of his neck is crushed against the beam for a second.

  
“No… No…” he manages to whisper, wincing when a hand begins to knead his inner thigh.

  
“Just hit ’im! That’ll do the trick,” the black-eyed man between his legs says, almost interrupting himself when a moan of pleasure escapes him. The snug fit of the body hugging his dick is almost too much for him, and he pants, drops of sweat starting to form on his forehead. 

  
“No, I think I’ve got a better idea…” demon number two says, his hand kneading Sam’s thigh a little harder before beginning to slide towards his groin.

  
“Look, Sammy boy’s not even hard yet... Let’s be a little considerate here, huh?” he says, and this time there’s a sort of diabolical sound to his voice that instantly sends chills down Sam’s spine. For a split second the demon between the hunter’s legs looks a little confused – but then his face twists into a big and toothy grin:

  
“I guess I _am_ being selfish. Sorry ‘bout that, Sammy,” he chuckles, out of breath.

  
“I mean, you should enjoy this as well. It’s only fair. Don’t you think?” he adds, sending the hunter a playful wink. Sam doesn’t see it though. He almost doesn’t even register what they’re saying to him even though it’s loud and clear. His mind is simply too far gone in a whirlwind of panic and pain for that. Still, a new and eerie feeling creeps into his system, sneaks inside his mind like a silent fog of dread. And at the same moment, he feels a hand close around his dick, beginning to gently stroke the soft flesh. His breath instantly hitches in his throat and nausea rolls through him in sickening waves. _‘If they think I’m gonna enjoy this they’re insane,’_ the little voice in his mind sobs, and his brows automatically knit themselves together even closer.

  
“Let’s see…” the demon between Sam’s legs says, digging his fingers a little deeper into his thighs and gyrating his hips a little. A gasp spills from the hunter when his walls are forced to expand further, sending new flashes of pain through him, white-hot and vicious. And then the demon angles himself differently. As he thrusts back in, he brushes against something inside the hunter that makes Sam’s eyes squeeze shut even tighter and elicit a choked whimper from him. Reading his victim like an open book a crooked smile is fast to appear on the demon’s face.

  
“Aahh. There we are,” he says, voice throaty when he pulls back only to slam inside once again, hitting that same spot one more time.

  
A strangled sound leaves Sam, and his eyes suddenly shoot open when a weird tingle travels up and down his spine, bouncing around like one of those steel balls in a pinball machine. _‘What’s happening?’_ his mind whines, because suddenly the searing pain in his body mixes with something else. At first, he can’t identify the feeling – other than it feels different and sort of warm, which is a stark contrast to the sharp pain blasting his nerve endings constantly. But then the demon repeats his action, driving himself into him again with a smooth thrust of his hips. And this time it dawns on Sam. Instantly it feels like all air is ripped from his lungs and if it wasn’t for the deep flush on his face he would certainly pale even more. Because he knows this feeling. He knows it all too well.

  
“No…!” he grits out, trying to will it not to be true. It can’t be true. It just can’t. Wide-eyed he dares to flick his glance down to his dick, not trusting what he is feeling one bit. But what he sees makes his heart do a painful somersault in his chest, makes it pound against his sternum from the inside so hard that it feels like he can’t breathe.

  
“Oh yes,” demon number two smirks, his black gaze fixed on the hunter’s dick as he keeps stroking it. 

  
Breathless Sam lets out a high-pitched keening sound, watching in disbelief as he chubs up in the creature’s hand, the heavy appendage slowly but surely filling with hot blood. _‘It can’t be!’_ the little voice in his head screams, flinging the words at him in full-fledged panic while the warm feeling in his body slowly turns into smoldering heat. _‘No, no, no, no!’_ his mind cries, unable to fathom how he can react like this to what’s being done to him. Because he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t at all. _‘You’re sick!’_ the voice spits at him, revulsion and fear and pain surging through him only to melt together with strange arousal. Arousal that he doesn’t at all want or even comprehend.

  
“Don’t! Don’t!” he pants, and he hates how shaky his voice sounds. It sounds almost as scared as he is feeling now, actually. But above all, it sounds weak, and the demons seem to just revel in it, to savor each little whimper and hitch of his throat. And they keep moving, keep touching, keep forcing those sounds out of him like it’s a drug that they can’t get enough of. Hands are everywhere, and electric currents seem to be zapping through Sam’s body every time the thick length impales him and brushes against that little bundle of nerves inside of him that he wishes wasn’t there. And suddenly the level of pain seems to drop just a little bit lower than the one of arousal, leaving the hunter to let out a shocked gasp.

  
“Oh, you really like this, don’t you?” the demon between his legs says, not missing how moans are far too close to spill from the young Winchester as he writhes in his grasp.

 _  
‘No!’_ Sam yells, but the word doesn’t make it out of his mouth. And the hand on his dick moves faster, collecting some drops of pre-cum that have somehow started to bead on the tip, slicking up the now fully hard shaft. Horrified Sam just stares down at himself, eyes wide and chest heaving as his own juices are used to feed the fire in his groin. The way the slick fingers smoothly slide back and forth over the veiny flesh makes him shudder from arousal. And it makes him want to die at the very same time.

  
“Look at ‘im! He loves it!” demon number two laughs, watching the hunter visibly tremble when his friend buries himself to the hilt again, moving with scary precision and nailing Sam’s prostate once more. And this time a choked moan slips from the hunter’s mouth before he has the chance to swallow it. Both demons instantly hum in approval, a victorious expression in their black eyes when Sam flushes an even deeper red, self-loathing and humiliation and shame practically painted on his face. And he can't prevent a sob from escaping him, the low and broken noise far too loud. And far too pathetic. But he simply can’t hold it back. Not anymore.

  
“Fuck yeah, Sammy… Just like that. Feels good, doesn’t it?” the demon in charge moans, clearly enjoying how Sam tightens around him every time his friend lets his fingers stroke his dick. But Sam doesn’t answer. He can’t. And he won’t. Because the demon is almost right. God help him, it feels close to good. _‘Why?!’_ the little voice in his head screams in desperation, pure self-hatred spreading like tendrils throughout his mind. _‘Why?! Why are you liking this, you sick freak?!’_ it bellows at him and another sob makes its way out.

  
“Sh-Shit… Not sure I’m gonna last much longer,” the demon between his legs grunts, his jet black gaze flicking back and forth between the hand working on Sam’s dick and the ass swallowing him. It feels like the tight heat is just sucking him in, greedily hugging him and wanting more. And Sam lets out a string of sobs when the fingers around him tighten their grip a little, skilled flicks of the demon’s wrist pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

  
“Please…!!” he bursts out, his voice panicked and somehow wanton at the same time. But he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. Not really. The plea just hangs in the air, confused and pointless, while the demons keep assaulting his ass and dick mercilessly. And the heat in his groin has grown into a blazing fire, scorching flames licking at his loins and making him let out another moan that he wishes he could take back. 

  
“Fuck, you beg so pretty!” the demon moans, and by now his breathing has sped up significantly, leaving him to suck in quick and shallow breaths of air. His face is flushing a bright pink and is glistening with sweat from the exertion and Sam screws his eyes shut once again when he picks up speed. Every single time the black-eyed creature slams into him, there’s a loud ‘slap’ when heavy balls smack against Sam’s skin, and the hunter swears that it’s loud enough to almost completely drown out everything else. The noise is so filthy and so wrong that it makes his gut twist and churn. But it also somehow feeds that stubborn fire in his groin, makes it grow hotter.

  
“Lovin’ this, aren’t ya, slut?” demon number two snickers, not missing how small moans tumble out of Sam’s mouth now despite the desperate and fearful expression on his face. Stroking the hunter’s dick a little firmer, the creature leans down to whisper in his ear:

  
“You know…This only proves just how twisted you are…” he says, licking a stripe from his ear lobe and into his hair.

  
“Getting your rocks off like this? That’s just sick, Sammy…” he continues lowly, licking up a tear running down the hunter’s cheek.

  
“Just look at you! All tied up and gettin’ fucked by the very things you hunt… Turns you on, doesn’t it? Makes you feel all hot and tingly, mm?” he adds and strokes Sam’s dick a little faster, a wide smile spreading on his lips when he forces another choked moan to spill from his victim.

  
“N-No…” Sam whines, but he isn’t sure if he actually said anything or if it’s just in his head.

  
“Oooh, fuck! Shit!” the demon between his legs groans, pumping his hips hard enough to make the back of Sam’s neck protest with each forceful thrust pushing him against the beam.

  
“So close! Make him clench again!” the creature grunts and tightens his grip on Sam’s legs so hard that his fingernails breach the skin just a little bit, drawing blood. But Sam doesn’t feel it. The only thing he can feel is the slippery fingers working his dick mercilessly and how his prostate is being struck spot-on again and again and again. It’s like he can’t breathe. He can’t even think. Not a single coherent thought is able to form in his mind right now, everything is just one big jumbled-up mess of need and fear and shame. And then a pad of a thumb gently slips back and forth across the sensitive head of his dick, gathering more pre-cum and rubbing against his slit.

  
“Nnngh!!”

  
He doesn’t even realize that he is arching his back and curling his toes, doesn’t even know that he is moaning. And unable to control himself he automatically clenches around the intruding length, clamping down on it when fiery sparks shoot from his dick to his balls to his ass to his spine, everywhere.

  
“Fuck, yes!!” the demon between his legs manages to grit out – and in the same moment his thrusts grow erratic and jerky, the smooth finesse from earlier completely forgotten. As he fucks into Sam with abandon, snapping for air as he irregularly pistons his hips, he bares his teeth in a grimace.

  
“Gonna cum- gonna fuckin’- ahhh!!” he growls, cutting himself off as he spasms and pushes as far inside as he can possibly go. Completely gone in the sensation of the hunter’s ass hugging him so tight that it almost hurts, he leans his head back and lets out an animalistic roar – and hot gushes of cum shoot from his cock to coat Sam’s insides.

  
A whine mixed with a moan escapes the hunter when he feels how semen is filling him up, the hard cock still throbbing and fully sheathed in his body as it empties. He feels so incredibly full, but it doesn’t hurt that much anymore. No, it’s far worse than that. Pain, he can handle… But not this. Anything but this. Because as the demon grows even bigger inside of him, forcing his walls to expand further, it seems to tighten the coil in his loins even more, seems to egg on the blazing fire in his groin. He can feel how his dick is practically pulsing in excitement, throbbing and aching for release as the demon’s spunk begins to ooze out of him, seeping out around the hard cock still buried in his ass.

  
“Why…?” he hears himself cry in a weak voice, but he doesn’t know who it is directed at. Is he talking to the demons or himself? He doesn’t know.

  
“F-Fuckk…” the demon between his legs moans, finally beginning to come down from his high. As his cock slowly shrinks inside the hunter’s body he lets out a shaky sigh, a grin playing on his lips. Sam doesn’t see it though. His eyes are still firmly squeezed shut in a hopeless attempt to block out what’s happening.

  
“Switch?”

  
The word bounces around in Sam’s dazed head for a few seconds. At first, he doesn’t know who said it or what it even means, it’s just gibberish. But when the softening cock slips out of him and he feels the demons move, the grip on his legs shifting, it begins to dawn on him.

  
“No…” he rasps when he feels demon number two position himself between his legs. He can hear the telltale sound of a zipper opening just as a new set of fingers close around his achingly hard dick, beginning to stroke it.

  
“But of course! Can’t leave you two with blue balls, now can we?” the demon in charge says, lazily flicking his wrist and working his fingers up and down Sam’s hard shaft. 

  
“Oh, he opened you up good, huh, baby?” demon number two purrs as he lines up, nudging the tip of his cock against the hunter’s abused hole.

  
“Please, please… Please, god, no…” Sam hears himself whine, but it’s quickly swallowed by a groan when the demon rolls his hips and pushes inside. As the cock drags against his already loosened-up insides, easily slipping inside of him without too much resistance, the demon lets out a throaty moan. Sam snaps for air as he feels how his body works to accommodate the slightly thicker girth, making squelchy and obscene sounds as the creature bottoms out.

  
“Damn, you feel- you feel so good…!” the demon pants, his face already turning a slight red from arousal. And with teeth bared in a snarl, he begins to pull out – only to slam right back in. 

  
A yelp escapes Sam when the tip of the monster’s cock grinds against his prostate, sending another electric current zinging through him. And the hand working on his dick is relentless. Sensation is blasting him from every direction, setting every nerve ending on fire and making his entire body feel close to boneless – except his dick, which is painfully hard and drooling pre-cum by now.

  
“You’re made for this,” the demon moans as he sets a brutal pace, fucking in and out of the hunter’s body with quick and forceful snaps of his hips.

  
“Made to serve, aren’t ya, Sammy?” he grunts, and his black eyes shine with victorious malice. It’s like he knows the hunter’s body like the back of his hand already because all too quickly he has located the little bundle of nerves that makes Sam moan and he keeps striking it, gleefully ripping those delicious sounds from the young man’s throat. But now a sob seems to replace every third moan or so, and the hunter weakly writhes when the fingers on his dick rub him harder.

  
“That’s right. Gonna be a good boy and cum for us, aren’t you?” the demon in charge whispers. 

  
Horrified Sam wants to shake his head, wants to bellow out a loud ‘no’ from the top of his lungs. But nothing happens. Because he can’t move his head and right now his vocal cords seem to be failing him as well, only allowing wheezy moans to leave him. But no words. None at all. Because his chest tightens at the demon’s question, a suffocating feeling spreading all the way up his throat when he realizes that the black-eyed man is right. _‘No, it can’t be!’_ the little voice in Sam’s head whispers somewhere far away, panicked and small and weak. _‘I won’t!’_ it screams. But it doesn’t sound convincing at all, and Sam fails to hold back a sob from wracking his body when he realizes that he doesn’t believe a word it is saying. 

  
“That’s it, that’s it…” the demon says, clearly noticing how Sam’s body tenses and his hips begin to buck just a tiny bit every time he is forcefully entered, hard thrusts rocking him. Tears are freely running down his heated face, dripping from his chin and landing on his chest while the creatures intensify their attack on his body, their black gazes hungrily glued to it. And Sam can feel how the very last bit of his self-control begins to slip away from him.

  
“P-Please…!”

  
The plea is as weak as it is pointless, but it rushes out of his mouth anyway. With his brows knitted closely together and his eyes screwed shut Sam realizes that he’s far too quickly headed for the point of no return. In fact, he’s being pushed towards it so fast that he doesn’t even have time to prepare himself. But how could he, anyway?

  
A mewl spills from him, tangled in a sob, when it feels like the fire in his loins suddenly explodes, a white-hot burst of wildfire sweeping through his body when his prostate is struck again. At the same time, the hand on his dick expertly strokes him, a slick fist swirling up and down and slightly twisting, applying just the perfect amount of pressure. It’s too much. And he finds himself tumbling over the edge, plummeting towards a climax that he doesn’t at all want but suddenly doesn’t refuse either.

  
With a choked grunt he stiffens, his body going rigid as every muscle tenses. His back arches of its own accord and his toes curl, thighs trembling and breath getting stuck in his throat - and a shockwave of heat crashes through him, washing away everything except an intense feeling of bliss and agony combined into one. With a hoarse cry, he feels himself spasm, feels how his dick twitches in the demon’s hand, how semen shoots from it in thick spurts to splatter across his belly and thighs in sticky globs. Forgetting to breathe his mind seems to white out. It simply seems to disappear while pleasure ripples through him, making him completely forget everything but the all-consuming fire in his groin and ass. And the hand keeps stroking him, keeps tugging on the hard flesh, milking him dry as he rides out his high. And the cock in his ass keeps splitting him open, hammering away at his prostate and making extra drops of nearly clear fluid seep from his dick. Everything is want, need, more, more, more.

  
“Holy shit,” a demon chuckles somewhere, but he doesn’t hear it.

  
“Thatta boy!” another praises. 

  
And then the world comes crashing back, reality returning in a flash and slamming him right back into the present. His eyes shoot open, but he can’t see much through all of the stars floating around in his field of vision. Sucking in a long, wheezy breath he feels how his muscles finally go lax, the cramp-like tension releasing its hold on him as he sags in the demons’ grip. And then his mind comes back online.

  
A mortified, guttural sound leaves him when he realizes what just happened. What he has just done. With a sob getting caught somewhere in his throat he manages to crack his eyes open and flick his glance down to look at himself. And there it is. Splattered all over his belly is the bitter proof of his own pleasure, sticky drops clinging to his skin in white streaks. His breath hitches in his throat at the sight and this time a sniffle makes its way out.

  
“Yeah, such a good boy for us, Sammy. Knew you couldn’t resist us,” the demon in charge smirks, still tugging on the hunter’s dick and making sure to squeeze every last drop of milky fluid from it. 

  
A hiss escapes Sam when the post-orgasmic haze slowly gets swallowed up by hypersensitivity, leaving him to twitch from the touch and weakly squirm. But with the thick cock still impaling his ass it feels almost like his dick is starting to fill again, throbbing and aching as soreness spreads.

  
“Such a fuckin’ slut,” the one between his legs groans, thrusting harder and deeper with each roll of his hips. At the words Sam feels more excess water escape the corners of his eyes to roll down his already drenched face, mixing with sweat and tears already cried. Because it hits a bit too close to home for comfort. After all, he has to be far more twisted than he had thought, far more sick to be able to get off like this. What sort of person _does_ that? _‘A freak like you,’_ his mind whispers somewhere.

  
“Here, have a taste…” the demon with his hand on his dick says, scooping some of Sam’s cum up from his belly with an index finger. All too quickly the dripping digit reaches the hunter’s mouth, and Sam instantly tries to press his lips into a thin line, denying him access – but in his dazed state he is just a split second too slow, and before he knows it the slick fingertip slips in between his lips and rubs the sticky substance all over his gums. A disgusted grunt leaves Sam and he tries to spit out the foul fluid, but a hand quickly clamps over his mouth.

  
“None of that! Be a good whore now and swallow,” the demon reprimands, staring daggers at the hunter. A muffled noise tries to slip out between the demon’s cum-covered fingers, but that’s about it. There’s no more energy for the hunter to tap into, no more give, no more resistance. It feels like every ounce of strength has left Sam’s body, and he falls silent, just sagging as he hangs there. More tears fall, but he doesn’t register it. Not really.

  
“Swallow!” the demon orders. And Sam does. God help him, he does. As the salty taste spreads in his mouth his stomach flips violently, but it’s like he doesn’t even have the strength to retch either. Another whimper leaves him when it seems like he can actually taste the bitterness of semen extend all the way down into the pits of his stomach, filling him with his own taste.

  
“There we go. Good whore,” the demon snickers, removing his hand from Sam’s mouth when he sees his Adam’s apple bob.

  
“How’s it taste?” he then asks, glaring down at the hunter while he rids his fingers of sperm by wiping them on Sam’s inner thigh. Cringing Sam feels his bottom lip quiver, suppressing a gasp when he is rocked by a particularly hard thrust. And he doesn’t know what to say. Because it tastes bitter. Foul. Like utter defeat. But he can’t say that.

  
“Answer me!” the demon growls, gripping Sam’s jaw tight and sending him a piercing, jet black glare. 

  
Nearly blinded by tears Sam can’t stop a sob from tumbling out of him and he sucks in shallow breaths through his nose, finally acknowledging that he should really just try to do whatever the demons want. The better he obeys, the sooner this will all be over.

  
“G-Good…” he hears himself rasp. And the lie tastes almost as bitter on his tongue as his release did. Instantly the demon lights up in a smile.

  
“I bet it did. Want some more?” he asks. 

  
Right away Sam’s gut twists itself into an even tighter knot and a keening noise spills from him. But before he can think of anything to say more cum is being pushed into his mouth, coating it in sticky bitterness. He wants to gag. He really does. But it’s like his body isn’t listening to him anymore. And what good is it going to do? With heated cheeks he forces himself to just swallow down the gunk, closing his eyes when he can’t bear to look at anything anymore.

  
“And what do you say?” the demon asks, wiping his fingers on Sam’s thigh again. 

  
Swallowing down the last bit of sperm – right along with the remnants of his pride – Sam takes a wheezy breath:

  
“Thank you.”

  
The words just hang in the air for what seems like forever. They even seem to grow louder despite the impossibility of it. It’s like they’re taunting him, reminding him just _how_ pathetic he really is. How sick. 

  
“Shit, ‘m gonna…!” the demon in between his legs grunts, finally interrupting Sam’s train of thought and cutting off the awful words that seem to just replay inside his head. At the same moment, the black-eyed man’s hips begin to stutter, his grip on Sam’s legs growing firmer as he slams against him erratically. 

  
“Fuck! Takin’ my cock so fuckin’ good, Sammy!” he growls, nearly tripping on his own words as he spews them at the hunter. The demon is now fucking into him hard enough to rip a choked sound from him every time he bottoms out and the back of his neck is squashed against the beam. By now Sam’s ass is swollen and red, drops of blood and slick oozing out around the base of the demon’s dick as he keeps plunging into him mercilessly.

  
“Want my cum? Huh?” the black-eyed man hisses and leans down a bit to stare at Sam’s contorted face as it scrunches up in pain.

  
“Want me to cum inside you?” he grunts, his expression wild as he gyrates his hips and stretches Sam’s walls further. Even though the hunter’s body is still resisting, his insides have gone far more pliant and soft than before and by now the slick channel just flutters around the intruding length, weakly clenching and quivering. Still, the pain is definitely there and Sam is just trying to breathe through it.

  
“You better answer him, slut…!” the demon in charge whispers into his ear, kneading his soft dick a bit harder. Instantly Sam jolts when the touch sends a series of sharp jabs through his abdomen, the tender flesh being so hypersensitive that the tiniest of stimulations is enough to inflict pain. 

  
“Want me to fill you up?” the one between his legs asks, his onyx eyes not straying from the hunter for as much as a millisecond. And judging by the tone of voice there’s no doubt that Sam is expected to answer. Snapping for air the young man writhes as he fails to hold back a whine by that realization.

  
“P-Please…!” he croaks, wincing when he is slammed into harder and harder as the demon wildly chases his orgasm.

  
“Please _what_?!” the creature snarls, reveling in how Sam’s face scrunches up even more. A hiccup mixed with a sob rushes out of the young Winchester’s mouth when he finally realizes that there’s no way around this.

  
“Please…” he begins, trying to get his vocal cords to cooperate even though his throat feels like sandpaper. The word ends up coming out all hoarse and it sounds nothing like his usual voice at all. It sounds… strange. Almost unrecognizable.

  
“Please… F-Fill me up…” he then rasps, finally giving in. ‘ _They’re just words,_ ’ his mind says. Just words. Empty and devoid of emotion. They don’t really _mean_ anything. Still, they seem to bounce around in the barn, seem to steal the last bit of air from Sam’s lungs as soon as they leave his mouth.

  
“Sure, Sammy boy… I’ll fill you up real good!” the demon between his legs groans and the other chimes in with a loud cheer of approval.

  
“Greedy little whore, aren’t ya?” he laughs, tugging on Sam’s spent dick and making him involuntarily clamp down on the cock in his ass when pain zings through him.

  
“Oh! Oh, fuck yeah! Shit, still so tight…!” the creature fucking into him bursts out, breathless and with sweat running down his forehead in glistening lines on pink and heated skin. And with that he bucks his hips impossibly hard, burying himself to the hilt in the tight heat. As Sam lets out a strangled cry the demon screws his eyes shut, hips stuttering when his back arches.

  
“Take it! Fucki- take my fuckin’ cum!!” he roars, interrupting himself with a loud growl as he slams into Sam and stills in a cramp-like spasm. Semen gushes from his cock as it angrily twitches inside the already cum-coated channel, pumping more of the sticky white substance even deeper inside. For a moment the demon almost seizes up, his entire body rigid as he grinds his pelvis as hard as he can against Sam, driving himself in as deep as possible while his cock empties.

  
“Damn…” the other demon laughs, wiping his slick fingers on Sam’s leg when he finally lets go of his dick.

  
“Look what you’ve done. You’ve gone and drained us both,” he says with a smirk and lets out a sigh. A content one.

  
Sam’s gut churns and he keeps just trying to breathe as he feels the cock slowly beginning to shrink inside of him, semen dribbling out of his ass. A shudder rolls through him and he winces when finally the demon between his legs rolls his hips one last time only to pull out. As he does, a stream of slick follows his softening cock, staining the cement floor below in slimy white and red splatters.

  
“That… That was fucking hot,” the black-eyed man still between his legs manages to say and he sends Sam a smile and a wink. Cringing Sam closes his eyes, tries to just focus on breathing instead of on all the feelings and sensations currently blasting him from all directions. It’s hard to ignore how empty he feels though. It’s like his belly aches as his hole tries to close around nothing, walls fluttering and quivering from the sudden loss of being so full.

  
“And what does our little whore say?”

  
The words just float around in his head at first, not really translating into anything that makes sense. They just feel distant. Thankfully. Maybe he _is_ passing out this time? But when fingers grab his hair and yank at it his mind seems to wobble right back. He doesn’t want it to though. He just wants it to slip into unconsciousness, wants it to fade to black and stay that way. Forever. Wait, no, he can’t. Not yet.

  
Warily Sam cracks his eyes open just a tiny bit, trying to will the room to stop spinning. It feels like a carousel just going around in endless circles, and once again his stomach flips. Hands are still everywhere, on his legs, his hips, in his hair. They feel scorching. Like the fingertips are burning big, gaping holes into his skin. He can’t tell if he’s crying or just sweating profusely, but his entire face and upper chest are drenched in wetness. And the demons are still staring at him. ‘ _Do what they want_ ,’ the voice in his head advises and he shudders. ‘ _It’s just words_ ’. 

  
“Th-Thank you…” he manages to say under his breath. Instantly both of the black-eyed creatures crack a wide smile, teeth glistening in the light as they send each other a smirk.

  
“Well, you’re most welcome,” the demon between his legs snickers as he stuffs himself back into his pants. A hand then pats Sam’s cheek softly, a thumb brushing up and down.

  
“Thanks for the ride, Sammy…” one of them says, hot breath fanning across Sam’s face. He doesn’t know who the voice belongs to because right now everything simply hurts too much for him to focus. Not that he really cares, anyway. All he cares about is ridding himself of the ropes. To get the hell away from these monsters, to get as far away as he possibly can. Both physically and mentally. And Dean. He has to help Dean.

  
“There ya go, whore…” a voice says, and he can feel something lightly touch his chest. Nervously he cracks open his eyes – only to stare at a crumpled ten-dollar bill being placed right below his sternum, the paper sticking to his skin when it is pressed into a glob of sperm.

  
“We should do this again sometime,” one of them says, and Sam’s inner thigh receives a few patronizing pats of a hand. He can practically _hear_ the smile on the creature’s face as he speaks, and he just wants to curl in on himself.

  
“C’mon, let’s go,” the other then says. Instantly a weird mix between relief and horror washes through Sam by the words. Are they really going to leave? Or does this mean they’re going to kill him? He honestly has no idea. But he has no time to speculate any further – because suddenly the two sets of hands let go of him and he falls down, his legs collapsing when they try to carry his weight as he lands awkwardly on the cement. With a choked yelp he instantly crumbles to the ground, unable to stand even if his life depended on it. Which it might. But no matter how hard he tries to he can’t pull himself up, his trapped hands are just sliding down the beam until he’s slumped in a heap on the floor, trying to make himself look as small as he can. Instinctively he has pulled his legs up under him as if he is somehow trying to get into a fetal position despite his arms being restrained behind him.

  
“Aww…” one of the demons says in a voice that’s supposed to sound sympathetic. But all it does is drip with malice and send icy shivers through the young Winchester as he sits there, trying his best to conceal the sobs wracking his body. Hidden behind a curtain of sweat-drenched hair he dizzily flicks his gaze to his brother. He still isn’t moving. Is he breathing? He thinks he is, but he can’t tell for sure. Dread shoots through him right away, stabbing him like there’s a chisel trying to shatter his heart to bits and pieces from the inside out.

  
“Please…” he hears himself say. It’s not much more than a whisper, but still, it sounds incredibly loud inside his own head. The demons in front of him chuckle lowly and one of them crouches down. Instantly, Sam wants to scramble away, but it doesn’t translate into movement. It can’t. There’s nowhere to go and even if there was his body wouldn’t obey him.

  
“What is it, whore?” the demon asks in a surprisingly soft voice. At the same moment, a hand reaches for Sam’s face and lets the pad of a thumb graze his cheek. The touch feels close to compassionate and Sam swallows down a gasp trying to burst out of him. Then fingers place themselves under his chin to lift his head a little, seemingly in an attempt to gain eye contact – but the hunter’s watery gaze is fixed on the cement floor.

  
“What do you want?” the creature then asks. Sam’s brows furrow at that. Because there’s something in the way he says it that makes him question if this is really just another taunt. It’s probably his mind messing with him, planting thoughts in his head that don’t belong there or even make sense. Still, he can’t help but cling to that tiny hint of genuine curiosity he thinks he can hear in the black-eyed man’s voice.

  
“Go ahead. Tell me,” the demon says, his thumb gently brushing back and forth over Sam’s chin while he still tries to catch his glance. But the hunter can’t meet his eyes. He doesn’t dare. Instead, he is cowering, curled into a ball as small as humanly possible with his arms still secured behind him. Like a beaten dog. Still, he feels himself part his dry lips, trying to formulate a sentence in his head.

  
“Please untie me,” he rasps. For a moment he’s surprised by his own words and the fact that they’re even remotely audible. Still, he swallows down a whimper at how utterly pathetic they sound. How weak. And why is he even saying them in the first place?

  
“Mmm… Can’t do that,” the demon says softly, and Sam wants to just punch himself in the face.

  
“But tell ya what,” the black-eyed man then says, reaching for something in his back pocket. Wearily Sam can’t help but follow the movement with his gaze – and his eyes widen a little when a Swiss army knife comes into view.

  
“If you ask nicely… Maybe I’ll drop this,” the demon says with a small smile, tilting the knife back and forth in the air a little, light bouncing off the metal. Instantly it feels like Sam’s chest contracts, his heart rate spiking at the sight. If he can actually get his hands on that knife he can get out of the ropes… And he can help Dean. But when are demons ever honest? For all Sam knows the creature might as well just laugh at him and walk away with the knife… Or just flat out kill him with it. But other than that – what more can they possibly do to him? They have already taken everything.

  
“Please…” Sam hears himself say, wetting his lips when they seem to stick together from dryness.

  
“Please, please…” he continues, a new rush of adrenaline coursing through him as his eyes lock on the little, red knife. He thinks he can see the demon’s lip curl upwards a little in what looks like the beginning of a grin and his heart thumps away in his chest hard enough to blur his vision a bit with each beat.

  
“Tell us what you are?” the creature says, black eyes glinting. But the beginning of his grin is still there, plastered on his face, lingering. Is it bad? Is it good? Sam can’t tell, but he knows that if this really is a chance at getting his hands on that knife, he has to give it everything he has got. For Dean. There’s no dignity left to save, anyway.

  
“I’m-I’m your whore…! Please… Please, I’ll do anything! Please, I’ll do whatever you want! I’m your slut! Please…!” he babbles, ignoring how tears are flowing from his eyes to end up dripping from the tip of his nose and chin. And the demon’s smile widens, revealing his teeth when finally his grin erupts and grows, a chuckle echoing in the barn.

  
“That’s right,” he just says. And then he leans down. Automatically Sam wants to retreat, but he manages to keep completely still as the black-eyed man brushes his hair away from his face and moves closer. At first, Sam isn’t sure what he wants, but it becomes clear when suddenly lips are ghosting across his own. And they just hover there. Waiting. As he realizes what he has to do he swallows down a whimper – but he doesn’t hesitate for much more than half a second. He can’t afford it. Neither can his brother.

  
With his stomach turning itself into tight knots and bile rising threateningly high in his throat he catches the demon’s lips with his own, pressing their mouths together in an awkward kiss. Instantly the black-eyed man lets out an appreciative grunt and Sam convinces himself to prod his tongue against the warm mouth, seeking entrance. And he gets it right away. The demon parts his lips, letting out an obscenely loud moan into the hunter’s mouth when Sam’s tongue enters. As it carefully swirls around in there the demon keeps moaning and cups Sam’s face with his hands, the cold metal of the knife pressing against his cheek in the process. Sam is thankful for that. Then he has something else to focus on at least, something else than the alien taste of the man’s mouth and the feeling of day-old stubble against his skin.

  
The kiss is messy. It quickly turns into a frantic sucking of lips and a dance of slippery tongues, all teeth and tongue and saliva smeared everywhere. Sam doesn’t dare to stop before the demon does. So, he keeps going, ignoring how every instinct in his body is screaming at him to retreat, retreat, retreat. And the black-eyed man seems to enjoy the sloppiness, seems to revel in the whimpers that Sam tries his best to camouflage as moans. 

  
Somewhere there’s the sound of the other demon laughing, a slight clicking of the soles of his shoes as he moves around. Seconds seem to slow down and grow long. Painfully long. All while Sam tries to devour the demon’s mouth like he’s expected to his mind wanders to Dean. What if it’s already too late? For a moment the feeling of the warm mouth crashing against his lips and the teeth nipping at him seems to fade when he thinks of his brother. What if Dean is dead? _‘Don’t!’_ Sam’s mind warns, yells the word to make it echo in his head. But still, ice-cold horror creeps through him and wraps around his heart, making it difficult to breathe. Or maybe it’s because he’s being suffocated by the demon’s tongue. He can’t tell.

  
“Come on. Playtime’s over,” the other demon says, impatiently tapping the nose of his shoe against the floor. 

  
Nervous relief washes through Sam when finally the black-eyed man releases his bottom lip with a wet ‘pop’ and pulls back. A string of saliva connects them, glistening in the light, and the demon smiles widely at him, his hands still cupping his face.

  
“Already? That’s too bad…” he says, winking at the young hunter. Sam keeps his eyes cast down, keeps staring at the man’s chin. It’s as far down as he’s able to look right now because the demon’s face fills almost his entire field of vision.

  
“I’m sorry, Sammy… But we have other places to be,” the man says, squeezing his cheeks a little. And Sam doesn’t know if he should be relieved or frightened. Will the demon actually make good on his promise and leave the knife? Or will he stab him with it? Or maybe just leave him and Dean here to rot?

  
“I really enjoyed our date,” the demon smiles, and now Sam can feel the blade of the knife travel down the side of his face. The metal is cold and sleek and grazes every little stubble on its way before reaching his jaw. His breath hitches. Is this how it’s going to end? Shuddering he closes his eyes, tries to brace himself for the pain. They say getting stabbed feels like getting punched at first. It’s not until a few seconds later – sometimes minutes – that the real pain sets in. He can’t help but wonder how quickly that pain is going to find him… And if he’s just going to bleed out or if the demon will be merciful and at least hit something vital. He doesn’t know. 

  
Suddenly the sharp clatter of something hard hitting the ground makes him flinch, his eyes flying open by the sound. But to his surprise, there’s no pain erupting anywhere on his body. Only the same, constant pain that’s been there all along. Surprised he realizes that the demon’s hands have left him and there’s no longer body heat radiating on to his face. Baffled, he watches the black-eyed man retreat and get up from his crouching position in front of him. 

  
“That was nice,” the demon says with a smug grin, correcting his clothes a little and evening out some small wrinkles in the fabric. 

  
Nervously Sam drops his gaze to his hand. The knife isn’t there. It’s not in his other hand either. Catching himself suck in a breath of air his gaze drops lower to search the ground. And there it is. The army knife has been tossed on the cement a mere foot away from him, its red metal handle glinting in the light. _‘Is this real?’_ his mind asks meekly, not quite trusting what he’s seeing.

  
“C’mon, we’re gonna be late,” the other demon grumbles and turns to leave. He’s clearly impatient and annoyed with his colleague lingering like this. 

  
Bewildered Sam flicks his gaze back up, unsure if this is actually happening or if maybe he’s hallucinating. Or maybe he’s dead? But in front of him, the two demons are now walking towards the barn door, one of them sending him a smirk over his shoulder as he throws him a ‘hang loose’ sign:

  
“Call me!” he mouths, a wide grin spreading on his face. And then they walk through the door and out of view. Stunned, Sam sits there and listens to their footsteps as they fade in volume, the crunch of gravel under their soles growing more and more distant. And then they disappear completely, silence engulfing the barn. Blinking in disbelief he looks over at Dean. He’s still just dangling from his restraints, bloody saliva drooling from his mouth. But now when there’s complete silence he can actually hear him breathe. It's faint and far too shallow, but it’s there. So is the rattle. But he’s alive. Barely.


	3. Chapter 3

“Dean?” Sam hears himself croak. There’s no response. Quickly he looks back down at the knife, eyes fixing on the shiny, red metal. _‘What if they come back?’_ his mind asks and a chill instantly rolls down his spine. Without answering his own question he hurries to stretch his leg - finally leaving the wanna-be fetal position he has placed himself in – to try to reach the knife with his foot. Right away pain shoots through him, making him choke on a gasp. Every nerve ending in his body is screaming in protest every time he moves a single muscle, sending fiery bolts of agony through him. Does he have internal bleeding? He doesn’t know. And somehow he doesn’t really care. Not now. 

  
Gritting his teeth he ignores his body’s instructions to just keep still and focuses his energy on the task at hand. He has to help Dean. He has to move the knife from its position on the floor in front of him to his hands behind the beam. But it’s not going to be easy. 

_  
'Come on!’_ his mind yells, cursing at his lack of strength when he tries to get to his feet and his legs give way underneath him. Another blast of pain surges through him when he hits the floor and his eyes begin to water once again. _‘Move!’_ his mind barks and he tries again, this time a little slower. As he puts weight on his legs, his thighs shake and tremble violently, threatening to collapse. But slowly he manages to straighten up, gradually sliding his back higher and higher up the beam and letting it take some of his weight. And finally, he’s standing. He’s actually standing. Well, almost.

  
Heaving for air he then extends his right leg, letting his socked toes try to curl around the little army knife. But it’s almost too much for his left leg to bear and he would have crumbled to the ground again if he didn’t abandon his plan for now and just put his foot back down instead. Panting and wheezing he just stands there for a few seconds, swaying a little on his feet. He knows that he’s rushing. And he knows that he probably shouldn’t. But what is he supposed to do? Any second wasted could be fatal. Quickly he glances over at Dean.

  
“Dean??” he tries again and he’s surprised by how small his voice sounds. And there’s still no response from his brother. Just that low and awful rattle of his labored breathing. _‘Get a grip and pick up the damn knife!’_ Sam’s mind screams at him. Inhaling deeply he leans his back against the beam a little heavier and extends his leg again, thighs shaking and pain ricocheting around his body. And this time he’s able to curl his toes around the knife’s handle. Carefully he pulls at it, drags it across the cement toward him. _‘Don’t let it slip!’_ the little voice in his head commands when he almost loses his grip. And then the knife hits the bottom of the beam, bumping against the wood with a small thunk.

_  
‘Almost there!’_ his mind gasps. It’s so close. So close, but yet so far. Furrowing his brows in concentration Sam lets his right foot push the knife along the side of the beam, trying to move it to the back of it. He can’t see what he’s doing. Only feel. And that’s hard when so much pain is currently trying to trump every other sensory impression in his body. _‘Don’t push it too far!’_ his mind shrieks, heart hammering away in his chest. Because if the knife is pushed just an inch too far backward his fingers won’t be able to reach it. And Dean will die. But he _has_ to push it backward in order to reach it at all. But how far is far enough? And how far is too far? _‘You only have one shot!’_ the little voice reminds him, shrill and panicked. For a second Sam stills, just trying to catch his breath. He can’t do this properly if he panics. Panicking never helped anyone. Ever.

_  
‘Easy,’_ his mind says in a hopeless attempt to calm him down. It doesn’t really work. But he doesn’t have the time to hesitate. Or the liberty to catch his breath. Not when Dean’s life is hanging in the balance like this. So, he carefully nudges at the knife, scraping the red metal across the cement as he moves it. The beam is wide, so he’s not sure when he’s in the right spot. But better not far enough than too far – then he’ll just have to get back up and nudge it again. _‘Is it there?’_ the little voice asks, timid and unsure. But he doesn’t know. And he doesn’t dare to push it further back right now. He’ll have to check.

  
With a groan he lets himself slide down the beam, beads of sweat instantly emerging on his forehead as pain zaps through him again from the movement. And then he’s on the floor. Everything is spinning for a moment, the barn looking all blurry and sort of warped all of a sudden. _‘Don’t pass out!’_ his mind orders. Blinking rapidly he tries to clear his vision and lets his hands search for the knife behind the beam. _‘Please be there,’_ he thinks to himself. Hopefully, he hasn’t pushed it too far backward? _‘Please, please, please,’_ his mind chants, his chest tightening when his fingers keep fumbling along the bottom of the beam, blindly searching the cement. Where the hell is it? _‘Easy,’_ his mind repeats, but it doesn’t soothe him in the slightest. What if he messed up? What if he has just sentenced Dean to certain death?

  
Drawing in a ragged breath his fingers broaden their search and go backward a little further, scrabbling across the dirty cement until the ropes stop him. And suddenly something cold and smooth brushes against one of his fingertips. Instantly he freezes. _‘That’s it!’_ the little voice in his head bursts out. Holding his breath he slowly lifts his hands just a tiny bit to let them hover in the air. If he accidentally nudges the knife in the wrong direction now, it will be out of reach. _‘Careful,’_ his mind instructs and he lets a shudder roll through him. And then he slowly lowers his hands, spreading out his fingers as far as he can to cover as big an area as possible.

  
As soon as his fingertips touch the cement his breath hitches in his throat. He can’t feel the knife. Only cement. But when he begins to close his hands, fingertips dragging across the cement like a net closing, the cool surface of the knife’s metal bumps into his left ring finger. _‘Bingo,’_ the little voice exclaims. And finally, he can close his hand around the knife, feel the weight of it in his closed fist. 

  
A ragged exhale of relief leaves him and he wastes no time beginning to saw through the rope binding his wrists together behind the beam. The hemp fibers are rough and thick, but one by one the threads making up the rope give way for the blade. It isn’t exactly easy. Not when the angle is so awkward and his hands are semi-numb, the blood circulation nearly cut off from him tugging and pulling to free himself for the last half an hour. Or has it been an hour? Two? He honestly doesn’t know.

  
“Dean?” he tries again, and once more he’s surprised at the sound of his own voice. Even though it _is_ his voice, it doesn’t sound like him. Not really. Still, he can’t really pinpoint what is so different – but he doesn’t want to dwell on it. Can’t stand the thought of doing so, actually.

  
“Dean??” he grunts, turning his head to look at his brother. There’s still no answer. Only that horrible rattle accompanying his breathing. But thankfully he _is_ still breathing. Shallowly, that is. Sam can’t help but wonder for how long because there’s absolutely no doubt in his mind that Dean is on borrowed time right now.

  
With a dry ‘snap’ of hemp fibers, the last bit of rope falls from Sam’s wrists and he instantly moves toward Dean’s slumped form, taking the knife with him. But as he crawls on all fours he immediately ends up on the cement with a pained ‘oomph’ when his numb hands fail to carry his weight. Wincing he tries to ignore how his entire body is protesting, how it screams at him to just stay still, how his insides feel like they’re shredded. The slick feeling between his legs is getting worse too, but he doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t need to in order to know that he’s bleeding profusely.

  
With a grunt, he manages to get back up on all fours. Unsteady and wobbly he crawls toward his brother, bare knees scraping across the dirty cement because he doesn’t have enough strength to lift them properly. He doesn’t feel the raw bite of the floor against his skin, doesn’t feel the abrasions he’s sustaining as he moves. He doesn’t care either. All he can think about is freeing Dean and getting him the help he so desperately needs. But how?

  
Finally, Sam reaches Dean’s limp body and he clutches his shirt, grabs a fistful of the fabric and squeezes it as if he is afraid that a tidal wave is going to come crashing and wash him away at any moment.

  
“Dean!? Dean, wake up!” he croaks, slightly shaking him. There’s no response though. Only that god-awful rattle. Swallowing dryly Sam doesn’t hesitate to begin sawing through the rope holding his brother up, fumbling not to drop the knife. His fingers shake and tremble and it doesn’t help that the small blade obviously hasn’t seen a grindstone in some time because it takes quite a lot of strength to make it gnaw its way through the rough hemp.

  
“Dean, please…! Please, just… Just hang on, alright??” Sam rasps, feeling how panic tries to override the remaining logic left in his hazed mind. How did all of this even happen? How could they possibly get jumped like this? Surely someone must have been watching them all along, just waiting to strike when they were most exposed, most helpless. How naïve of them to think that they could actually hide that amulet before getting caught. That pendant is on everyone’s most-wanted list, after all. And here’s the bloody result. Still, neither he nor his brother had seen it coming. Not like this, anyway. And now Dean might die because of it.

  
A tear rolls down Sam’s cheek as he bitterly saws through the rope, tears at it with the blade with vicious, jerky movements that make his arms shake and produce lactic acid that burns, burns, burns. And finally, the last couple of hemp threads snap, making Dean collapse right into his arms.

  
“Oh, god…” Sam says under his breath, trying his best to lean his brother against the beam. Right now it probably won’t be a good idea to lie him down, not with the blood undoubtedly pooling in his lungs. Because judging by the sound of it he hasn’t settled for just puncturing one of them.

  
“Wake up…!”

  
The words echo in the barn, but Sam’s words fall on deaf ears and Dean just sags against the beam, limp and heavy. Wrapping an arm around him to keep him from slumping too much, Sam uses his other hand to search his brother’s pockets for the cell phone he hopes hasn’t been left behind in the Impala. But there’s no such luck. There’s no phone and the car is parked more than a mile from here. Just a mile. It’s nothing, really. But it’s a distance Sam knows he can’t cover in his current condition. Not in time.

  
A frustrated grunt escapes him and helplessly he lets his eyes search the barn as if a phone booth is going to magically appear. But there’s nothing here. Nothing but rusty tools, dusty cobwebs and stained cement.

  
“Dean… Dean, please…. Stay with me…” he hears himself whisper. Why did they have to end up here of all places? In the middle of nowhere where there isn’t a soul to help them? A sniffle slips out and he lets his glance settle on one of the old windows in the roof, his mind racing. The fading daylight is filtered through the dirty glass above, spilling into the room like a column of bright orange that makes dust particles sparkle in the air. Somehow it looks almost divine even though this place feels as hellish as it can possibly get right now.

  
“Please…” Sam says again, but this time it’s a little louder. With his gaze still fixed on the window he draws in a shaky breath.

  
“Cas? Cas, are you there?” he then asks into the air, feeling how his entire body shakes from exhaustion and pain.

  
“Castiel, please… Please hear me…” he begs and his voice cracks even though he tries to keep it steady. By now the sound of Dean’s labored breathing has grown even more shallow, and Sam can feel how panic is creeping into his mind slowly but surely. Somewhere in the pits of his stomach a heavy feeling settles, threatening to steal the air from his lungs. 

  
“We need you…! Dean needs you…” he rasps, not caring about the tears that break free to roll down his heated face. Why isn’t the angel answering? He has to answer. He has to. Or Dean will die right here in his arms. A sharp jab of a primal sort of fear shoots through Sam’s mind as desperation washes through him. 

  
“Help…! Castiel, I beg you… Help us!” he bursts out in a sob and this time his voice is loud enough to bounce off the walls. But all that follows is silence. An awful silence only interrupted by a wet rattle.

“Please…!” he sniffles, holding on to Dean a little tighter, feeling how his brother’s body heat radiates onto his skin through the flannel. But soon that heat will turn into cold. There’s no doubt about it. Another sob wracks Sam’s body as pure desperation floods his mind, fear and anger mixing and turning into one big whirl of hopelessness.

  
“Cas!!” he screams, choking on the name as it leaves him to reverberate in the spacious building. The sound is shrill and loud and seems to hang in the air forever, amplifying. And suddenly something shifts. It’s like a wind rushes through the barn, but the sparkly particles of dust don’t even move. Still, the air almost crackles.

  
Sucking in a sharp breath Sam looks around, waiting for the angel to show himself. And it doesn’t take more than half a second for him to register movement in his peripheral vision. Whipping his head to the side a sigh of relief wants to tumble out of him – only, it stops somewhere in the middle of his throat, getting lodged there, when it isn’t the familiar beige trenchcoat that comes into view. Instead, it’s something dark. Confused Sam narrows his watery eyes in an attempt to clear his vision and his gaze fixes on someone dressed in black from head to toe. Immediately his jaw drops as he eyes the man up and down, realization hitting him square in the face like a bucket of ice-cold water.

  
“You…?” he says under his breath, trailing off when Crowley just sends him a smile.

  
“At the risk of stating the obvious… Yes,” he retorts dryly as he clasps his hands behind his back and starts to approach the brothers.

  
“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid your feathered friend is unable to receive calls right now,” he says and stops a foot or two away from the hunters, peering down at them with a sort of smug look on his face. For a moment Sam just glares up at him, his mouth dropping open as if to speak – only no words seem to be able to make it out right now.

  
“So, I decided to drop in instead. Say hello, all of that,” Crowley says, and the smile tugs on the corner of his mouth.

  
“How _are_ you boys doing? You look a bit… Off-color,” he adds and this time a little chuckle accompanies the words. His dark gaze locks on Sam, eyeing him up and down as if he’s studying his body intensely. The young hunter is curled up, trying to cover himself just a tiny bit while supporting Dean’s limp body. He wishes his torn shirt was ten times bigger, so he could hide under it – because it feels like Crowley’s eyes are piercing him to the bone. And the king of Hell doesn’t at all seem to find it weird that he’s almost completely naked. Sam’s brows furrow and without even realizing it he holds on to Dean just a bit tighter when Crowley walks a little closer. 

  
“Y-You… You did this?” Sam rasps, wide-eyed. Pressing himself against the beam he looks up at Crowley when finally he stops right in front of him, a smirk growing bigger and bigger on his face.

  
“Oh, don’t look so surprised…” he just says and crouches down, looking contemplative while he clicks his tongue.

  
“You honestly didn’t think you could get away with it, did you?” he asks and there’s genuine curiosity in his voice now as well as a hint of something that resembles amusement. Almost curiously he reaches out his hand to pat Sam’s cheek – but immediately the young hunter flinches away, nearly smacking the back of his head into the beam.

  
“Don’t touch m—“

  
“Come on, Sam, don’t be daft... You must have seen it coming,” Crowley interrupts, but his hand abandons its plan and retracts, nonetheless. With a sigh he just crouches there, watching, while Sam tries to control his breathing. He’s not really succeeding at it though. Instead, his chest is heaving irregularly and fast while he shallowly gasps for air.

  
“You’re a horrible liar, you know that? I knew you had my amulet the second you said that you didn’t. And I wasn’t about to let you two nitwits run off with it,” the demon smirks, letting his glance settle on Dean. Cringing a little he lets out a small huff:

  
“Ugh… That looks painful. He was being stubborn, I reckon?” he says, dark eyes looking Dean’s unconscious body up and down. By now the rattle of the hunter’s lungs has turned wetter and more labored, long ropes of crimson saliva drooling onto the flannel shirt and making it stick to the skin underneath. Next to him, Sam inhales shakily, clutching his brother as hard as he can:

  
“Please help him!” he hears himself burst out, voice weak and desperate. For a moment the demon looks surprised, his eyebrows lifting themselves up into inquisitive arcs:

  
“Oh, but Sam, you know I can’t just—“

  
“I know you can heal…! Please, plea- I beg you, please, heal him!” Sam babbles, and for the first time he forces himself to look the king of Hell straight in the eye. A shudder automatically rolls through the young hunter when he gains eye contact, but he refuses to cast down his glance even though he wants to.

  
“What do you offer in return?”

  
The words seem to echo in the barn and Sam’s breath hitches. For a moment he doesn’t know what to say, it’s like the words simply slip away from him. Like he can’t even _think_ anymore. But nothing is ever for free. He knows that. Still, his brain seems to be one big whirlwind of fragmented thoughts and emotions, and desperation floods his mind when he can’t get his thoughts so slow down enough to be able to pick one. Crowley is still crouching in front of him, waiting. And the wet rattle is growing more shallow by the second. Dean is dying. He’s dying right here in his arms. It’s a matter of minutes now, maybe just seconds. But Crowley already has the amulet. He’s got what he wanted.

  
“Let’s not faff about now… What do you offer?” the demon says impatiently. And finally, a thought pops out of the chaotic mess in Sam’s head. It’s the only thing coming through properly except the sound of that god-awful rattle of his brother’s lungs.

  
“Y-You can- you can have my soul…!” he spits out, chest heaving and eyes impossibly wide. His knuckles turn white as they clutch the blood-soaked fabric of Dean’s shirt hard enough to wring scarlet drops out of it.

  
Silence falls for a few seconds. The demon looks almost stone-faced, but Sam thinks he can see a hint of a smile in his dark eyes. But he’s not at all sure. He isn’t sure of anything. Exhaustion, pain and fear have him in a grip so strong by now that the room is spinning and sailing and doing barrel rolls in front of his eyes. And his brother is growing heavier, lactic acid burning in every fatigued muscle as Sam keeps fighting to keep him just somewhat upright. Anxious and with his heart painfully doing somersaults in his chest the young hunter waits. He just waits. Even though he isn’t sure if Dean can afford it. But what choice does he have? _‘None,’_ his mind answers meekly somewhere in the distance.

  
“Seems fair, but… Are you sure?” Crowley then asks. As his words shatter the silence he tilts his head a little to the side, waiting for Sam to answer. But his eyes reveal that he isn’t really asking. It’s all for show.

  
“Yes!” Sam shouts, the word bouncing around between the walls of the barn like a ricocheting bullet. A toothy smile erupts on the demon’s face and he lets out a small huff.

  
“Alright… I must say, Moose... Sometimes I think you’re off your trolley, but we have a deal,” he says. Instantly it feels like Sam’s heart does a weird double beat and he just nods, silently urging Crowley to get on with it. They can’t wait any longer.

  
As soon as the demon extends his hand to touch his brother Sam can’t help but tense up, his entire body going rigid at the closeness. Crowley just chuckles.

  
“Easy now. My henchmen might have a taste for excessive violence, but I don’t. Not when I get something for my trouble, at least,” he says, shooting Sam a short glance:

  
“I suppose I could heal you too, but I don’t think I will. After all, a physical reminder of why your plan botched is in order. You don’t lie to the King of Hell, Sam. And you don’t bloody steal from him!” he warns, placing his index finger on Dean’s forehead. Sam holds his breath and once again he nods, silently just agreeing with the demon. Right now he’d agree to anything. It’s like his brain has turned into mush, his mind so far gone in a spiral of panic that he can’t at all think straight. The only thing of importance right now is getting Dean back. Nothing else matters.

  
As light begins to flicker between the demon’s fingertips a sly smile spreads on Crowley's lips and he looks at Sam once again:

  
“You’re bonkers, you know? You didn’t need to trade your soul to save your brother. Hell, I’d heal him for free! He _is_ the Michael sword after all and I need him... But I’m chuffed. Really, I am,” he says, watching how Sam’s eyes widen ever so slightly, the vacant and glassy look in them mixing with a hint of surprise. Then realization. But there’s no response. He’s just sitting there, pale and tense and scared. Waiting. 

  
“Two birds, one stone, innit? And it was easy too! Play with you a bit, tenderize Dean here a little and Bob’s your uncle – I’ve got myself the amulet _and_ a brand new soul!” Crowley concludes, victorious and smug. And at the same moment, the light from his fingers seeps through Dean’s skin. As it glows and spreads further inside, the wet rattle begins to ease and Sam can hear his brother suddenly suck in a big breath of air. His eyelashes begin to flutter and Crowley quickly removes his hand:

  
“Pleasure doing business with you, Moose. Give my regards to your brother. Toodle pip!”

  
And with that the demon is gone, disappearing just as quickly as he had come. The barn is back to being quiet. Except for Dean sucking in yet another big breath – and this time there’s no rattle to it at all. Sam finally unfreezes, his hands shooting up to grab Dean by the shoulders when his eyes shoot open.

  
A surprised mix of a cough and a gasp escapes Dean, and he instantly straightens his back, muscles tensing and eyes going wide as his mind slams him right back into the present. What the hell is going on? Wasn’t it pitch black moments ago? And why isn’t his body hurting anymore? Nervous confusion washes through the older Winchester as his glance darts around the barn, trying to spot the two demons. They were just here and they were hurting his brother- oh, god, where’s Sam???

  
Bile tickles the back of his throat when he replays the last bit of what he remembers in his head and it’s in that moment his gaze lands on his little brother. He’s right next to him. Halfway curled up into a ball, covered in blood and bruises and looking smaller than Dean has ever seen him. Even as a kid. Still, his hands are gripping the flannel of Dean’s shirt hard enough to almost tear it. 

  
“Sam??” he croaks, bewildered.

  
“Sam, what’s goi- are you okay??” he bursts out, almost tripping on his own words when he sees the state his brother is in. But of course, he’s not okay. Dean doesn’t even know why he asked, it just came out on reflex. Because Sam looks so fragile. Littered with red and purple marks in the shape of fingers all over his skin he’s just trembling, slumped on the ground and naked from the waist down. Only the tattered remains of a shirt cover his upper body a little. Again the sour taste of bile makes its presence known in Dean’s mouth when he thinks about what he saw… What that demon did to him. And he doesn’t want to begin to imagine what Sam must have been through while he was passed out.

  
“Oh god, Sammy…” he hears himself say, and before he knows it he has grabbed a hold of his brother, wrapping his arms around him – as if _now_ he can somehow protect him. But it’s too late for that. The damage is done. And his brother tenses up the little he is capable of, a low grunt tumbling out of his mouth when he finds himself trapped in the awkward embrace.

  
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t- I should’ve never brought you out here…!” Dean says, his voice shaky and coming out in a hoarse whisper. Why had he let it come to this? Why hadn’t he stopped them? He’s supposed to protect his brother, not just watch from the sideline! Water rises in Dean’s eyes when he feels how Sam is one big ball of tension in his arms and he hurries to pull back – realizing too late that he’s doing more harm than good.

  
“I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean…” he says, watching as Sam’s body shakes and trembles, weakly returning to its slumped position against the beam. Without even registering it Dean finds his gaze fixing on the pool of blood seeping out between his brother’s legs and slowly trickling across the cement. It feels like his heart skips a beat.

  
“’S okay…” Sam just slurs. But they both know that it isn’t.

  
“We need to get you out of here. Alright?” Dean says and he does his best not to let his voice crack. He doesn’t quite succeed though. And how can he? This is the worst possible scenario he can think of. Hell, he wouldn’t even be able to imagine something like this if he tried. Not even in nightmares. It’s too horrific.

  
“C-Can’t walk…” Sam says under his breath. He sounds so different and Dean nearly winces.

  
“But I can and I’m gonna help you, okay?” he says, slowly lifting his hand to make sure Sam can see it. Warily his little brother’s gaze follows it.

  
“Car’s… Far,” Sam just states, his voice sounding gruff from exhaustion.

  
“I don’t care. I’m gonna carry you to it. And we’re gonna get you to a hospital,” Dean replies, not missing how Sam tenses when his hand gets a little closer. His gaze is practically glued to it, but his eyes are no longer wide and panicked… More like droopy and with a sort of resigned look in them. And it scares the hell out of Dean.

  
”Alright?” he hears himself ask – even though he doesn’t really expect an answer. And even if Sam refused he would still pick him up. He has no choice.

  
“I’m just gonna…” Dean says and lets his arm wrap around Sam’s back only to stick it under his armpit. Right away his little brother turns as stiff as a board. But he doesn’t protest. Not verbally, at least.

  
“It’s okay, it’s okay…” Dean soothes as he hooks his other arm under the back of Sam’s knees and carefully scoops him up from the floor. Even though the movement is slow a pained grunt escapes the young hunter and he winces. It feels like his body is one big mosaic of pain and every tiny touch is enough to stab at him viciously, enough to make his eyes water and his mind spin. The internal damage must be worse than he thought. As he sags in Dean’s arms, long limbs helplessly dangling in the air, he realizes that he can’t even stay tensed up the way his mind instructs him to. Even if his life depended on it he wouldn’t be able to get his muscles to comply. It should probably worry him - but for some strange reason, it doesn’t. Not really.

  
“Stay with me, Sam!” Dean says and suddenly the young hunter realizes that his eyes have fluttered closed. When did they close?

  
“You hang in there! You hear me?!” his big brother’s voice orders and Sam forces his eyes to open. He can’t really see anything though. Everything’s blurry and there’s an annoying orange light covering everything. ‘ _The sunset,_ ’ his hazed mind informs him. Something cool is tickling him and for a moment he can’t tell what it is. Are they outside already? Because it almost feels like a breeze.

  
“Don’t you fuckin’ leave me!” Dean says and it almost sounds like he’s choking on his own breath. But Sam can’t really figure out why. He _can_ feel that they have picked up speed though, can feel how the steps Dean is taking are almost punching the air out of him even though his older brother is clearly trying to be as gentle as possible. ‘ _He’s probably just out of breath_ ,’ Sam thinks to himself. It can’t be easy to carry almost two hundred pounds of deadweight, after all. Dizzily he wonders if Dean will yell at him once he tells him about the deal he made. He probably will. 

  
“Oh god, please, Sammy…”

  
His brother’s voice seems distant. And there’s still that weird choked sound to it, almost like his throat is way too tight or he’s been yelling for the past hour or something. And what’s that wet stuff dripping on his chest? Is he bleeding there too? Sam realizes that his eyes have closed again. But Dean told him not to.

  
“’M sorry…” he mumbles, but he isn’t sure if it’s audible. Fighting to get his eyes to open he realizes that he can’t. They’re too heavy somehow. Oh, Dean’s gonna be angry at him now. And he doesn’t even want to know how he’ll react when he tells him about his little deal with Crowley. His big brother’s gonna be pissed, isn't he? 

  
The sun must have gone down because the annoying orange light has bled into a smoky, red one. Or maybe that’s just how it looks like through his eyelids? Sam doesn’t know. He can’t seem to get his mind to stop spinning, can’t keep track of anything anymore. And he feels so god damn heavy. Like he’s made of lead or wrought iron. Still, his big brother keeps carrying him, his breath coming out in rapid and wheezy puffs. Is he running? He can’t tell. How long has he been carrying him like this? A pang of guilt washes through Sam and he parts his lips to apologize once again – only to discover that he can’t. He can’t seem to move a single muscle. And his eyes are still closed despite the instructions he was given. And now he’s sleepy too. That's just perfect. Not only is he making Dean carry him, but now he's dozing off as well. Damn, everything seems to be dimming down now, turning darker and darker behind his eyelids. Is he passing out? He should probably be worried about that. But he can’t really focus on it for some reason. Instead, he keeps thinking about the whole soul thing… How's he going to tell Dean that he sold his soul to Crowley? Even when he didn't _have_ to? Oh, yeah… Dean’s gonna be _so_ pissed. Dean’s gonna be— 


	4. Chapter 4

Everything is spinning. Even though it’s all black and quiet the world seems to spin around like a carousel out of control. It’s nauseating. What’s worse is that he can’t at all figure out what the hell is going on right now. Wasn’t he and Dean just… Just… He’s not sure if he remembers, but something sends a weird shiver through him and he doesn’t know why. Is he sleeping? Can sleep really feel like this? It’s like his body is numb and he can’t get his mind to slow down enough to tell him what’s happening. Instead, it’s just all black and strangely fuzzy. Maybe he’s dead? No, wait, if he’s dead then it would mean that his soul is— oh, no…. Crowley. The deal. The old barn. All of the blood. And Dean. Where’s Dean?

  
As everything comes crashing back, flooding his brain with horrific imagery, Sam snaps for air. He thinks he hears a weird noise at the same time, but he can’t place it. It kind of feels like his throat is straining a bit though. Wait, is he alive? If he’s alive then why is the pain gone? That overwhelming and mind-numbing pain that was his entire world only moments ago… Or has it been longer? He doesn’t know.

  
Is someone saying his name? He could have sworn that it sounded just like it. But it’s like he can’t trust any of his senses and everything just keeps spinning, keeps swirling around and inducing what’s probably the worst nausea of his life. The imagery in his head isn’t helping either.

  
As his stomach flips while flashbacks blast his brain he tries to open his eyes but finds that they’re too heavy. Like lead weights have been placed on top of them or something. And he still isn’t sure if he’s even alive because he can’t really feel his body. Well, except for the nausea. Perhaps that’s a good thing?

  
‘ _Move your pinky_ ,’ the voice in his head suddenly says. He hadn’t even realized that it had disappeared. Following the instruction he tries to focus, tries to gather himself enough to get his finger to move. And something twitches. It feels distant and oddly disconnected, but there was definitely movement. So, he isn’t dead. He’s unsure if that’s good or bad, to be honest.

  
“Sam?”

  
Someone _is_ saying his name. Again he tries to open his eyes and this time he can feel his eyelids twitch. There’s still darkness surrounding him, but it seems to have brightened just a little by now. The spinning is the same though and he feels like he needs to hold on to something even though he’s lying down. Yeah, he’s definitely lying down.

  
“Sam?”

  
There it is again. Dazed he tries to open his eyes once again – and this time he manages to crack them open just enough for a pale yellow light to feel like it’s literally piercing right through his brain. Like a god damn ice pick, it shoots through him and immediately he screws his eyes shut, letting out a small grunt. Good. So, now his vocal cords are working.

  
“C’mon, Sammy, wake up.”

  
Wait, that’s his brother’s voice! There’s no doubt in his mind. Dean has to be here with him. Wherever ‘here’ is. Thank god! A relieved shudder wants to roll through him but can’t – instead, it diffuses into nothingness when his body refuses to comply. Is he lying on something soft? It feels soft. At least he thinks it does? Confused he tries to open his eyes once more. This time he’s a bit more careful about it though, trying to avoid that sharp stab of light. Still, as his eyelids slowly peel open everything is uncomfortably bright, pale yellow light hurting his eyes. It feels like it bounces off the back of his skull. And he can’t see a damn thing.

  
“That’s it, that’s it.”

  
Dean’s voice sounds urgent. Like he’s riled up, angry or fearful. Probably all three. And who can blame him, really?

  
“Dean?” Sam hears himself croak in a strangely small voice. God, he sounds weak. Even to his own ears. And he still can’t seem to see anything but that awful, yellow light filling up his entire field of vision. Some fuzzy, dark outlines are beginning to take shape now though and squinting he tries to make out his surroundings. But he can’t see them properly. It’s like everything is washed out.

  
“Yeah, Sammy, it’s me,” Dean says and Sam thinks his brother’s voice is coming from somewhere on his left. Hazed he turns his head towards the sound and a blurry blob of flesh tones comes into view. It has to be Dean’s face, but he can’t really focus his eyes on it. And everything’s still a bit too bright to try, anyway.

  
“Where… Where’m I?” Sam slurs, trying to stop his stomach from flipping so violently. Why is everything still spinning like that? If it doesn’t stop soon he’s going to throw up.

  
“Hospital,” Dean’s voice says lowly. He sounds sad. Sam’s brows furrow and he squints a bit harder, trying to get his brother’s face to wobble into focus.

  
“You were hurt pretty bad,” Dean says and something in his voice sounds almost apologetic. Like he has trouble even _saying_ it. Usually, he doesn’t. But nothing about this is usual, is it? Again, imagery of hooded, black eyes and hands all over him flash before Sam’s eyes and his stomach suddenly feels like it twists itself into a knot. Before he knows it he finds himself leaning over when his body decides to rid itself of the little bit of bile left in his stomach and his throat burns when the bitter liquid spills onto the white linoleum floor. On the way it almost hits Dean, but he doesn’t even flinch. He just sits there in a chair next to the bed, looking like he doesn’t know what to say or even where to look.

  
“S-Sorry…” Sam rasps and before he even registers it his body has returned to its resting position on the bed, his head sinking into a sweat-soaked pillow. By now Dean has turned clearer and he can actually make out his features. All of the blood is gone from his skin – and now his complexion looks sort of ashen, he realizes.

  
“Not your fault,” Dean just states.

  
“Do you… Remember?” he then asks, and it looks like he really doesn’t want to ask that question. Sam can’t blame him. Nervously the young hunter prods at his bottom lip with his tongue, realizing that his mouth is about as dry as the Sahara desert. And he nods. He thinks he sees Dean’s jaw muscles clench in response. Just like they do when he’s really mad or frustrated about something. But he doesn’t really _look_ like he is. Not in the usual way, at least. Instead, he just looks kind of… Lost.

  
“So, how… How long’ve I been out?” Sam asks, changing the subject. By now the slur has almost gone from his voice, he realizes. Still, it sounds strangely raspy and low. Small.

  
“Eight hours,” Dean says and rakes a hand through his hair. He looks sort of exasperated – like he wants to hurl the chair he’s sitting on through the room – yet, every movement he makes is unnaturally slow. Like he’s trying to control himself.

  
“’Kay…” Sam says meekly, not really knowing how to respond. And for a moment silence falls in the room. An awfully heavy silence. It feels like it’s wrapping around him and making his ears ring, squeezing the air right out of him. To be honest, Sam wishes that Dean would just make some stupid joke or do something silly right about now. Act like things were normal. God, he wishes things were normal. But they’re not. Not in the slightest. And the look on his brother’s face testifies to that, jaw muscles clenching and eyes dark with something he can’t really identify. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look like this before, actually.

  
“God…” Dean then bursts out and suddenly he lets his head drop into his hands. Like he’s suddenly in pain or all strength has just been punched out of him.

  
“I’m sorry…!” he says, words getting all muffled against his palms.

  
“I’m so sorry, Sam… I should’ve stopped them!” he whispers, almost so low that it gets swallowed up by his hands. It sounds like his voice is going thin and cracking too - and instantly Sam wants to reach out. To just place a hand on his shoulder, offer some sort of comfort. But he finds that he can’t. Even though his hand has made it halfway there it just hovers helplessly in the air, unable to clear the distance.

  
“It’s okay…” he hears himself say, but he can’t tell if he’s speaking to himself or Dean.

  
“No, it’s not! I should’ve protected you!” Dean says, finally letting his hands drop – but he doesn’t lift his head. He’s just staring at the floor, sagging in the seat a little as if he’s incredibly tired all of a sudden. Sam swallows the lump that has formed in his throat.

  
“But you couldn’t. Not this time. You didn’t have that option, Dean,” he says softly and he’s surprised at how the slur has completely vanished from his voice now. It doesn’t even crack either. Dean just sniffles a little and hurries to wipe his face with his sleeve, rubbing at his eyes in frustration. Again his jaw muscles clench.

  
“I’m gonna kill them,” he states flatly. And there’s no doubt in Sam’s mind that his brother is dead-serious. In fact, he’s certain that Dean is going to make it his mission to track the demons down and take every method Alistair ever taught him into use once he finds them. And he _will_ find them. Which means that he will also find their boss. 

  
"Don't… Don't go after them," Sam says under his breath. And he instantly regrets it, because Dean whips his head up to look at him, an incredulous expression painted on his face. 

  
"What? Why the hell not?!" he spits. Sam isn't sure of what to say. Instead, he silently fiddles with the linen bedclothes that cover him, wincing a little when he discovers the IV needle stuck in his hand. So, that's why it doesn't hurt right now. 

  
"Sam?" Dean asks. It's clear that he expects an answer and Sam swallows dryly, trying to swallow the lump still lodged in his throat. 

  
"B-Because… Because you can't win," he then says, his eyes still fixed on the linen with the blue stripes. 

  
"What? What do you mean? I'll kill them with my bare hands if I have to!" Dean bursts out, body tense and breath hitching just a little. 

  
"They can't get away with it, Sam! Not after what they… W-What they did to you," he says and it looks like he wants to cringe. Sam does too. 

  
"Wait, does this… Does this have something to do with my injuries disappearing?" Dean then asks. Sam wishes that he hadn't. But his brother isn't stupid. He's going to figure it out sooner or later, with or without his help. So, he might as well save him the trouble and come clean before he puts himself in danger. But it's like his vocal cords have tied themselves into a tight knot all of a sudden, robbing him of the ability to speak. At the same time, the lump in his throat feels like it has grown to the size of a friggin tennis ball. And he can't look at his brother. Instead, he manages to just nod. In his peripheral vision, it looks like Dean tenses further. 

  
"What happened?" he asks and it sounds like his voice really wants to shake. Sam feels like just hiding under the covers, feels like curling up into a ball in the darkness and never come back out. But that isn't exactly an option, is it? And his brother is still just looking at him. 

  
"Crowley," Sam then says, voice low and trembling. For a moment Dean looks completely blank. Like he doesn't at all understand what Sam just said. 

  
"What? What the hell does Crowley have to do with… Oh," he says, realization hitting him like a punch in the face. 

  
"He sent them, didn't he?" he then asks. But it isn't really a question when he already knows the answer. Sam just bites his lip and watches while Dean's jaw muscles clench hard enough to make his teeth grind against each other, giving off a squeaky sort of sound. 

  
"That son of a bitch! When I get my hands on him…!" he spits but trails off, the sentence dissolving into heavy breathing and then just silence. Sam is still nervously fidgeting with the bedclothes, pinching the stripy fabric between his fingernails. 

  
"You made a deal, didn't you?" Dean asks bluntly. He is staring at something in the distance now, it seems. It looks like he’s straining to keep cool, like he’s putting every ounce of strength he has into keeping himself in check. And apparently, it works. Because he looks strangely calm.

  
Sam casts down his glance, letting it settle on the IV needle in his hand. For some reason, he gets a sudden urge to just rip it out. 

  
"Please don't be mad," he says and he nearly winces at his own voice. He suddenly sounds like he's fifteen years old again and just broke something. And it isn't far from it. Except now he's an adult. 

  
Silence falls in the room. The only sound is the distant squeaks of linoleum whenever someone walks by out in the corridor. That and the slight buzz of the air conditioner. 

  
Dean looks tired as he sits there in the chair. Pale too. He almost looks like he has aged ten years in the last couple of hours. 

  
"We'll get it back," he then says. Sam thinks he can hear something in his voice that sounds way too close to defeat - even though his words are matter-of-factly. Or maybe his brother is simply just as tired as he looks? He can't tell. 

  
"Yeah…" he replies. But right now he doesn't really care if they can save his soul or not. Honestly, he's too exhausted. And what's left to save anyway? Even if he goes to Hell it can't be worse than what he's just been through, right? Or maybe he's just telling himself that because he knows it's a lost cause. How are they going to fight the King of Hell? Let alone make him give up on the deal? There's no chance that he'll give Sam his soul back. Not without a fight. And not without cost. Because nothing's ever for free. 

  
"You should get some rest," Dean then says, snapping him out of his train of thought. But Sam doesn't feel like resting. Every time he even blinks those jet black eyes flash through his mind with such intensity that it feels like he's suffocating. He doesn't want to think about what will happen if he actually tries to sleep. 

  
"Not sure if I can," he says. Dean just sends him a tired smile. It looks like it's supposed to be reassuring. It isn't though. Not really. 

  
"I'll be right here," he says. And this time Sam believes him.

  
"Thanks," he says and returns an equally tired smile. It feels like it doesn't reach his eyes though. Dean just nods. It's clear that his brother is in serious need of some sleep. The way he sags in the chair and the dark bags under his eyes are proof of that. Sam shouldn't keep him awake. 

  
Silence falls again. Only the subtle noise of Sam’s fingernails scraping against the coarse linen mixes with squeaks of linoleum and the electric humming of the AC. It’s uncomfortably quiet in here. Carefully Sam flicks his gaze from the bedclothes to Dean. His brother’s eyes are all droopy and he leans back in the chair a little, his head coming to rest against the wall behind him with a thud. 

  
“We’ll get through this,” he then says. Sam isn’t sure if he believes him, but still, he nods. What else is he supposed to do? Dean looks at him, tired green eyes fixing on him:

  
“I promise,” he says, and suddenly his hand lifts to give Sam a reassuring pat on the arm. It stops before it has moved far though, just hovering indecisively in the air before hurrying to drop back down. Like he’d burn his fingers if he actually touched his little brother right now. Or like Sam is infected with some really contagious disease. For some reason, it shortly reminds the young hunter of the Plague in the 14th century, of how people must have been looking at the ones who had become infected. They would have looked at them with eyes full of fear and disgust. Like they were unclean. Like they were dirty. ‘ _That’s stupid_ ,’ the voice in his head says. Still, his heart sinks in his chest when Dean lets his hand return to its resting position on his own knee, sending him a small smile. But it looks insecure. Hesitant. Fearful. And maybe it should be. It should be disgusted too. Maybe it is?

  
“I promise, Sammy,” Dean repeats, not knowing what else to say. Or what else to do. He wishes he knew what Sam is thinking because he looks utterly lost right now. He just wants to hug him, to tell him everything’s alright and be a good big brother to him. Like he used to. But he can’t do that. He doesn’t dare. It’s not like he doesn’t at all know anything about psychological trauma either and he simply can’t risk triggering Sam by touching him. No… No, he has to wait for some sort of invitation. When Sam is ready, he’ll let him know. Right?

  
“Just… Get some sleep, alright? If you need anything, just let me know,” Dean says, repositioning himself in the seat a little. Sam is just looking at him, nodding meekly as his older brother rests his head a little heavier against the wall behind the chair. He looks… Different. Older. Tired. And it’s like he doesn’t really want to look at Sam. Like he’s just cycling through the big brother routine for the sake of it and not because he feels like it. Like he’s detached from everything. Or maybe he just doesn’t really care anymore? That wouldn’t be so strange when it comes down to it, actually. It can’t be easy seeing him like this, after all. And it will take a lot of investment and a shit-ton of patience to deal with the aftermath of what happened in that barn. Sam really can’t blame him if he doesn’t want to, now can he?

  
Dean sends him another little smile that looks all wrong. It looks forced. Fake, even. He’s just sitting there in the chair in that stoic sort of way, slumping more and more the sleepier he gets. And then his eyelashes flutter a little when his eyelids seem to turn heavier, sleepiness tugging on them enough to make them droop even lower. And then they close completely, shutting Sam out. It’s probably for the best. 

  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean says with that awful smile still plastered on his lips. But Sam knows that isn’t entirely true. Dean might be sitting right here next to him in the hospital room… But his brother is long gone. 


End file.
